Rebirth
by RachyBaby09
Summary: 2nd Phic. Opera Populaire reopens 8 years after Don Juan. Most familiar faces return. Christine & Raoul have a daughter. Christine and her Angel continue to haunt each other. Erik, who is thought as dead, develops a tender romance w/Raoul's sister. EOC
1. A Prologue

_(a/n: Can the lovely Victoria De Changy and the Phantom resist temptation which threatens to destory all?)_

_Prologue _

It had been eight despairing years since the tragic events of the Opera Populaire. The magnificent building had been entirely refurbished and was as luxurious and grand as ever.

Opera Populaire was to be reopened quite soon. All of Paris was in great anticipation to have the opera's failed legacy reborn.

Surprisingly, many of the previously employed occupants were planning to return. And why would they not? After all, their beloved "O.G." was no longer a threat.

He was dead.

Or so it was believed.

When questioned, the performers claimed different, personal reasons for choosing to return to the infamous opera house... some reasons slightly more unorthodox than others.

Former prima donna, La Carlotta, certainly had a strong willed agenda of her own. She was thoroughly convinced that the "Opera Madman so spitefully shoved her from the spotlight—he would have done most anything to win the affection of the overrated soprano, Mademoiselle Daae." Granted, even after eight long years, Carlotta still embodied resentment towards Christine. Not to mention the "scorned" murder of her lover and Opera Populaire's lead tenor, Piangi. Her sole purpose was to reclaim her "robbed career; give her denied public what they need."

Madame Giry and her wide-eyed daughter, Meg, would be returning as well. Madame Giry had considered Erik practically a son; it was a sad loss for her.

Ex-managers, Monsieur Firmin and Andre, would not step a mile within Opera Populaire's parameters... let alone return to manage the haunted opera house.

An aged and disheartened widower would be taking over the business.

As for Christine Daae and her noble husband, le Viscount Raoul De Chagny…

Although Raoul and Christine were continuously faced with seemingly endless obstacles and haunting memories, they had built a life for themselves considerably well.

Around the first anniversary of Opera Populaire's ruins, Christine had birthed a beautiful and talented daughter. Sarah mirrored her mother in almost every sense; she was gifted with a natural talent for singing and was quite beautiful. Sarah had a magnificent hunger for music. She was destined for stardom.

Christine often reminded her, "You were born to be a diva, my little angel of music!"

Christine was through with singing and the stage; she had lost all inspiration after the traumas. However, Sarah's promising career was already being wildly anticipated and pursued. Raoul and Christine were under constant debate whether to allow Sarah to try for a career at the reestablished Opera Populaire. A life in opera was frowned upon for a daughter of nobility. But such a thing was inevitable. It was Sarah's fate.

"Sarah needs this; you need this, darling. You are in desperate need of this closure, my dearest. Christine, my love, it is time that you put the ghost's of your grave past to rest."

And he might have been right.

The Phantom's haunting song never fully vanished from Christine's poisoned mind. In the darkest of dark, she would find Erik beckoning her with his devastation and madness, his lonely voice echoing and drowning her thoughts.

Why can't the past just die?

Needles to say, Sarah would have no trouble landing the lead roles without struggle. The mysterious "love affair" between Sarah's mother had become a legendary tale, and she was a De Chagny heiress.

After all, gossip is worth its weight in gold.

_(a/n:_

_Story's direction:_

_Will be as follows: Eight years after the deadly fire, many of the friendly faces (and not so friendly) return to the newly established Opera Populaire. They falsely believe "the Phantom of the Opera" was killed on the tragic evening of "Don Juan Triumphant." Christine does not further pursue her career, but her and Raoul's naturally talented daughter, Sarah, does. Christine still is haunted by her Angel. The romantic drama is mostly between one of Raoul's sisters and our beloved Erik._

_disclaimer: I do not own 'The Phantom'... for if I did, I would refuse to share. ;) _

_Please do not forget to review. Thank you for your interest!)_


	2. Erik

_Chapter One: Erik_

Everyone thought he was dead.

And he liked it that way.

The O.G., Phantom of the Opera, Erik had died that traumatic evening... in a sense. Erik was alive yet had never lived. Then he had found the orphaned chorus girl, Christine Daae... his angel. And she was in every sense a true, breathing angel in his eyes; she was his savior, reason to live, and a hope for a future…for love.

Christine had become a first stream of light within his never ending darkness. Erik had sacrificed himself entirely to Christine, only to be humiliated and sought by all. Shortly after the police and mobs gave up their desperate manhunt, he was claimed dead.

What did the people know? They were ignorant. Ignorance is bliss.

For three years not a soul dared to step foot in the Opera Populaire. Some, claim until this very day, the Opera Ghost existed, and not in the flesh. And since ghosts cannot die, the apparition still haunted the ruins.

_Ah, the human race and its silly superstitions! What boobys! _

Others had some doubt of his death. Most just simply could not handle returning to the tragic landmark.

Erik miserably dwelled in the lifeless, pitch black opera house cellars for three years of complete reclusion. Despite his freedom from unwelcomed visitors, he never parted from his underground dungeon.

Well, only to the dreaded Parisian streets for food and fresh drink. After all, he was still _breathing._ Why he allowed himself to continue living in the flesh he did not know. Perhaps, even though he passionately denied it, Erik believed in a God, or some divine being which gives His "final judgment."

If this were true, Erik was convinced he would be doomed to the darkest, most torturous level of hell for eternity. So, when forced to choose, Erik preferred his living hell over his afterlife one.

How enraged Erik was the day Opera Populaire began its reconstruction! He dreaded the torturous future which was bound to come. Slowly, familiar voices and faces returned to the opera house. The first time Erik left his hellhole to venture to the above regions of the theater was the day he heard Madame Giry's voice. He did not know if her voice was real, or if he had finally gone completely mad.

To his disappointment, her voice was real. Too real.

But gradually his humanity and curiosity got the best of him. Erik began to visit the upper levels of the Opera Populaire more and more. Unseen, of course. The moment he saw Raoul De Chagny dare to step foot in _his_ house, Erik nearly locked himself within his own torture chamber. Needless to say, he was beyond infuriated.

Did he still love Christine Daaé? His mind said no; his heart said yes. He had heard Raoul – and eventually even Christine – blabber on and on about their precious little one, Sarah. He was displeased to hear she was 'absolutely beautiful.' Cruel as it may sound, he wished Sarah had been born disfigured and cursed.

All these horrible emotions, thoughts, and feelings are understandable, even justifiable; Erik had lived a life of rejection and loathing since his first breath.

His mother hated him. His first, and only gift, was a mask to hide his hideousness. Alas, more a gift to his mother than himself…

Erik had survived unthinkable cruelties: in his early childhood, a mother's hatred and terror, the abuse and vulgar rape of Javert, his cruel gypsy master, endless beatings from torturous mobs, the violent Shah. And, possibly the most painful, humiliating rejection of the one person he ever had trusted or humbled himself to, Christine Daaé.

Erik became quite obsessed with eavesdropping on the various conversations that echoed in the "above world." The way he was spoken of satisfied, and at the same time, repulsed and saddened him.

A monster, a ghost, a phantom, a pathetic man, perverted freak, a demon; you name it, he was labeled it.

Erik found Raoul's mindless jabbering to be the most interesting and hurtful. He heard his boring "life story" dozens of times. Raoul spoke of his daughter, his Christine, his estate, his thriving businesses, and his two lovely sisters.

_Ha! That's all the world needs, more big-headed De Chagnys to spread their spirit and joy_…Erik chuckled to himself with bitter amusement.

His only remaining happiness was his beautiful music. Erik tried with incredible discipline to give up music all together, considering the deadly fate it had caused him. But, he could not. Erik was very much in love…with his music.

One gloomy morning, a morning like all others, it happened. The Opera Populaire was resurrected; brought to life. Erik observed the many faces with disgust.

_Those fools are stripping me of my home, my peace…my sanctuary! _

As he sulked in the shadows a most beautiful, and familiar, song caressed his tender ears. He could have sworn it was the premature, childish singing of his ex-student, Christine Daaé. That so distant, angelic voice he had taken under his blackened wing so selflessly. Erik had fallen madly in love with Christine's voice before her.

Through her voice, Erik's genius would be heard.

Unlike Christine had ever done, the pretty youngster was playing the piano as she sang. Her sweet voice and the piano's rich melody entwined, pleasantly melting together as one tender phenomenon.

_Natural talent. Reminds me of my own, young self._

Erik caught himself smiling for the first time in eight years.

The voice of an angel rang out, "Sarah, darling! I told you not to leave my sight, dear! Angel, how many times shall I must remind you..."

Christine.

She was as beautiful as he had remembered. Erik's fragile heart painfully twisted and burned within his heaving chest. He nearly fell faint at the mesmerizing sight of the woman he had once loved far more than his pitiful self.

Erik slid a trembling hand underneath his porcelain mask, madly clawing at his fatal flaw.

_This face, this wicked, selfish barrier which had diseased and murdered our love. The face of Lucifer, the fallen angel, himself, which dooms all who dare lay eyes upon its cursed ugliness. A face which has imprisoned a man, sentencing him to an eternity of unearned ill fate._

Elegant chocolate curls that snugly hugged her petite frame, a dancer's body.

_God's purest of angels._

"Sarah, darling…you really mustn't vanish from mine or your father's sight again; do I make myself clear?" Christine anxiously scanned the dimly lit hall, clutching her daughter with unbreakable motherly love. She seemed to be protecting Sarah from some unseen, diabolical force.

Sarah nodded in agreement and gave her mother a warm hug. Noticing her mother's restlessness, "Maman, are you okay?"

Christine reassured Sarah with a forced smile, "Why don't you go and see your papa, angel?" Sarah grinned and ran off in the direction of Raoul's chattering voice leaving Christine to herself.

How incredibly odd and difficult it was for Christine to be back at the Opera Populaire. It had been eight long years, and she felt as if the traumatic events had occurred only yesterday.

Guilt, fear, and sadness tingled her body. Christine's soul ached for her deceased Phantom's pain. Christine could barely stomach standing in the opera's auditorium; this was more difficult than she had ever imagined it would be.

She ran her delicate hands over the piano's smooth surface. Christine made note that Sarah had been playing the musical piece by heart; the piano was nude of any sheet music.

Complete silence fell. The room seemed to slightly darken.

All Christine heard was the rhythmic music of her own breathing, which was rapidly increasing. A painful gust of coldness swept her veins, sending a chain of eerie chills through her bones.

Christine embraced her body, comforting herself from the dark surroundings.

_"Christine…"_

She jumped, terribly flustered as her name was faintly sung out by a deep, mournful voice. Truly a devastatingly beautiful cry. She turned paper white, as if she were in the presence of a true phantom.

_"Oh, my Christine…_"

The melody of her name faded into the darkness. Christine roughly massaged her throbbing temples, trying hard to ease her overwhelmed, delusional mind.

Erik could hear Christine whisper beneath a gentle, choked breath, "No, no…dead! He is dead."

He watched with a heavy heart as Christine exited in a rush, her beauty devoured by the familiar shadows.


	3. Into His Darkness

_Chapter Two: Into His Darkness_

Christine ran from the haunted auditorium in a terrible panic. Alive or dead, Christine knew the Phantom still powerfully ruled her fragile mind. She would forever be his captive. Madly panting and coughing, Christine knelt over, resting her shaking hands over her heaving, weak stomach. She felt she was going to be sick.

_That voice. His terribly beautiful and grave voice._

As Christine began to catch her breath, a gloved hand firmly tugged at her waist, pulling her backwards. She screamed in fear as she felt herself fall faint into the grasp of masculine arms; they firmly nestled her powerless frame.

"Shhh…Christine, my love." Raoul tightly forced Christine into his mighty hold as he calmed her with a soothing rocking motion. He cradled her as a mother would her crying infant. Christine pushed her pretty face into his chest as she let herself sob.

Choking over her thick sobs, "I heard him, Raoul! He whispered my name in tears; he called for me from his darkness. I heard him weeping, crying those horribly cold tears of his. Those tears! I shall hear them every night!"

Raoul knew there was nothing that could be said to ease Christine's terror and sadness, so he continued to affectionately stroke and caress her. Like a young child, Raoul planted a sweet kiss on the top of her soft head. He raised her chin with his gloved hand, letting Christine bask in his eye's compassionate glow. Christine noticed his tear-stained dress shirt. Raoul stroked her velvety hair and pressed a kiss to her rosy cheek.

He had calmed her.

"I am so sorry, Raoul; please…please, forgive me for my weakness." Christine broke Raoul's worrisome eye contact with inevitable guilt.

"My sweet Lotte! Oh, I love you, painfully much! Please, you shan't be frightened so. You are safe and he is no longer a threat to you." Christine forced a weak smile and nodded in appreciation as he gingerly petted her.

Christine pressed her ear against his chest, listening attentively to the melodic beating of Raoul's heart. Like a puppy-dog, the soothing beat seemed to relax her.

She suddenly tensed, "Raoul, where is Sarah? Oh, I had told her to not leave your presence!—"Raoul smothered her words with his fingertips, "She is being sat by the Girys, my love. They are teaching her some ballet steps, bless their hearts." Raoul continued with growing concern in his voice, "I am terribly worried for you, Christine. You are far too grim on yourself."

Christine's pink lips puckered and sweetly locked onto his. She devoured Raoul's sweet taste. "I just need rest—my thoughts need rest, a moment to breathe, to think." Massaging her stiff back, "Then you shall rest. Victoria, Elizabeth, Sarah, and I shall go to supper, and you shall rest."

"Oh, Raoul, that sounds marvelous! How wonderful! I would absolutely adore seeing Victoria and Elizabeth."

Raoul's heart smiled at the thought of seeing his two sisters. They had always been especially close, losing contact only within the last several months. Both sisters were as beautiful as Raoul was handsome. All the De Changny siblings conducted themselves similarly: impeccable mannerism, fashionable dress, and intellectual speech.

Victoria, the youngest of his two sisters, had grown very close to Christine since their marriage. She was both the friend and mother Christine never had. Christine had confided in Meg Giry, her dear childhood companion, fairly well during her residence at Opera Populaire, but not in the same manner as Victoria. Victoria was only nineteen, yet contained all the wisdom and compassion of an elderly woman. Christine felt a sense of calming relief; she was not alone. She was protected.

Too much was happening all at once: the reuniting of Meg, Victoria, Elizabeth, Madame Giry—_her angel of music's voice_—she was overwhelmed.

Christine lovingly embraced Raoul a last time, gave him her love, and parted to her bedchamber. Christine's childhood bed place had been redesigned just as she had remembered it. Her glowing eyes remain fixated on the familiar bed. She recalled the peaceful memories of being rocked to sleep endless times by her angel's sensuous song.

Now, the cold room was eerily silent.

* * *

Erik descended into his black underground hell, his heart throbbing. His heavy cloak danced behind himself like a pair of colossal, blackened wings. He cursed himself for crying out Christine's name.

Erik knew he was dead to her. No more than a foul memory.

Christine's sweet name had escaped his lips effortlessly; _these cursed lips_. He bit down on them until he tasted blood.

_Blood. Pain. Feeling pain means you are still alive. Damn. _

Erik solemnly sulked through the maze of his dark kingdom, dragging his heavy feet. He bitterly tore his porcelain mask from his overheated, perspiring skin.

_So uncomfortable. So dehumanizing._

Erik hesitantly glanced down at the only 'mirror' that resided in his lair: the vast lake.

_A sea monster._

Erik hissed at his pathetic reflection, "Damn you."

Despite Erik's severely deformed half, he was quite beautiful. He saw otherwise. Erik felt strangely numb and indifferent. Numb to emotion, to touch, to his existence entirely.

He paused by his torture chamber. The noose, which hung so invitingly from his iron tree, wickedly beckoned him.

_'Your escape…your well-earned freedom…your antidote. Feel the power and burn of your wrath - in the flesh!'_

* * *

Sarah, Raoul, and his two sisters merrily entered Opera Populaire, rubbing their full, satisfied bellies. Raoul sternly instructed how Christine was not to be woken from her much deserved rest.

He thoughtfully asked his sisters to wait until Christine awoke, explaining how she desperately wished to be in their missed company. The girls cooed and told him they would gladly wait. Raoul rested peacefully outside Christine's bedchamber, his body lazily slumped against her heavy door.

This time, he would not allow himself to fall asleep.

The two ladies parted separate ways, tiresome of one each others exhausting company. Elizabeth thought it best to keep Sarah entertained with amusing stories and gossip as her mother rested. Victoria blissfully hummed as she strolled about the opera house, which seemed to be gradually emptying for the evening.

Victoria gave herself a tour of the impressive building.

Behold – THE PRIMMA DONNAS' DRESSING ROOM!

Victoria boasted a devilish grin as she poked her pretty face into the darkened room.

No Carlotta! _Ah. So this is where the magic happens…_

Victoria considered herself to be far from a Carlotta fan.

_A bleeding heart anti-La Carlotta._

She made a foul face at the thought of Carlotta's screeching vocals and tiring arrogance. Grinning ear to ear, Victoria scanned her surroundings, quietly letting herself slip into the room. The door shut powerfully behind Victoria; she jumped.

Victoria turned a knob of a kerosene lamp, illuminating the room with a soft, pleasant glow. Her large, sapphire eyes shined like diamonds; her cinnamon curls cascaded down her slim back, gracefully falling just past the small of her waist. The corners of Victoria's voluptuous, kissable lips curved in a childish smile. She squealed excitedly with satisfactory delight. Victoria was a rare, exquisite beauty and heiress, sought by countless numbers of eligible bachelors.

_Eh, men._

Marriage did not interest the young maiden even slightly. Raoul thought otherwise; he was constantly pairing her with able gentlemen. Her youthful and fiery personality undoubtedly added to Victoria's powerful charisma.

Minus the nauseating portraits of Carlotta plastered about the walls, it was truly a magnificently beautiful room. Victoria fingered the delicate lace of the elaborate costumes; she ran her small hand over the sleek mahogany furnishings.

Victoria admired her glamorous form in the full length mirror, twirling about as her dinner gown ballooned like a round halo. She stopped; hey eyes narrowed. Her delicate hand ran down the glass's smooth side rather curiously – she tugged at it.

_Gasp!_

As Victoria peeled the mirror's heavy glass plate aside, a dark and mysterious corridor was revealed before her. She beamed with excitement, marveling the mysterious discovery which curiously laid before her. What wonder had she unmasked?

After a hesitant glance back into the dressing room, Victoria bit her lip, shrugged her tiny shoulders, and carefully stepped through the mirror.

She shut the one-way glass behind her, ignorantly entering the Phantom's dark underworld.

Behold.


	4. An Unexpected Guest

_Chapter Three: An Unexpected Guest_

Victoria leisurely stumbled through the narrow, black corridors. Her fancy heels melodically echoed the stone passageways in chime. She shuddered in horror, as she felt herself pass through a cobweb; she freed herself, beyond disgusted. Her poor vision could barely make out a vast, glassy surface that lay before her– _a lake! _Mist gracefully danced atop the quaint water.

Victoria curiously approached the mysterious lake with fascination and wonder. She stood at the landing's edge, trying to make sense of her unusual finding…

A terrible squeaking! Victoria felt a monstrous rat scurry across her feet. As the perfectly harmless critter tickled her legs, Victoria shrieked, crying out bloody murder. She lost balance as she squirmed in repulsion, toppling backwards.

_Splash! _

The ice cold water hit her painfully–like sharp knives stabbing at her flesh. Her lungs weakened at the severe coldness; goose bumps diseased her smooth skin. Victoria paddled like a mad hound; she had never been taught to swim.

She was more of an indoor girl, one could safely say_…_

The pavement's aged edging was thoroughly covered with slime and algae; she tried to pull herself up and out, only finding herself slipping into the dreaded water even more profoundly and deeply. In addition, her evening gown weighed her down greatly, cruelly tangling Victoria's tired arms.

Victoria felt herself drowning as she fought for her dear life, ferociously struggling to keep her head above water level.

Erik's sensitive ears perked. He could faintly hear Victoria's losing battle.

_Odd._

Without hesitation, Erik boarded his gondola, his well-tuned ears following the trail of alarming screams and splashes. The stone walls amplified Victoria's suffering.

Erik finally reached the opposite pavement; the jarring noise had silenced completely. Recognizing the urgency, Erik stripped himself of his heavy cape, plunging into the quiet waters.

After a few critical moments, Erik tore through the lake's murky surface, firmly clutching Victoria's limp frame in his masculine grip. He felt her full breasts grinding his rough hand.

_Most certainly a woman. A rather well-endowed one at that._

It could not be denied; he was cursed with those wicked, humanly urges. Erik shoved Victoria's slender form from the piercing water. He joined her on the gondola as she tumbled across its wooden surface.

_Unconscious._

Erik oared back to his kingdom, the distressed damsel passed out at his feet.

The surrounding candlelight subtly illuminated Victoria's femininity as the boat approached Erik's glowing lair. He intensely studied the radiant young woman – her slim figure lifelessly sprawled across the wooden boat. Long, damp, amber curls gracefully swept the water's surface as the gondola glided across the serene landscape.

_Alas – Christine! _

He studied the young woman's elegance.

_An angel, no doubt of it._

The gondola violently struck the stone pavement, awakening Erik from his illusory state. He noticed the beauty's still chest–breathless. Erik firmly pumped it, locking his lips around her soft, sweet mouth, breathing life into her_._

_Our second kiss._

Victoria painfully gasped as the water overflowed her mouth, spilling down her throat and pale cheeks. She coughed, panted, and choked on the foul water. Her alluring, sapphire eyes divinely glowed, scorching Erik's soul.

_No, not Christine; _those eyes were far from Christine's eyes.

Erik weakly absorbed her beauty, his vulnerable self aching at the sight of such perfection. Erik had always appreciated the flawless beauty of an angel.

Victoria slowly lifted her face as her pretty eyes painfully strained against the overwhelming light.

_Heaven._

"Am…I dead?"

Erik cleared his throat, "No, but shortly–maybe." Victoria eyed her savior with wonder. She felt faint, dizzy, hallucinative. He growled, spooking her. "You have no purpose down here – IN MY DOMAIN, GIRL!"

Victoria was officially intrigued.

Erik felt strange. He had not spoken with a person in over eight, lonely years.

_Oh, so lonely._

Victoria's cold spine wonderfully tingled and stiffened at the ecstasy of Erik's rich and deeply masculine voice. He noticed the belle eying his broad form, her roaming eyes sweeping up and down the length of his body. Erik grew flustered. His wet, starch white dress-shirt clung to his powerful body and sturdy shoulders; his trousers snugly hugged his thick legs and thighs quite nicely.

Erik, this mysterious man, possessed everything which was masculine in a single, fleshy form: power, brute strength, mystery, and the darkest shade of seduction.

Her sweet, hoarse voice spoke, "…who are you…?" He dared not respond.

Victoria stood, her weak legs threatening to collapse beneath her. Erik leapt from the gondola, offering his hand and stability. She grasped onto it as Erik effortlessly picked up the slim beauty, setting her down in his golden palace.

She admired the strange man's elaborate world, her mouth a gaped and eyes widened to their fullest. She seemed to respond to his glorious sanctuary almost identically to how Christine had, eight long years ago.

Victoria elegantly basked in the warm candlelight, wringing out her heavy hair and arching her delicate back in a teasing curve, oblivious to her transparent, sopping wet gown. Erik could not stomach such a wicked temptation; he wrapped the beauty in his warm cape, defending her modesty.

Winsomely, "Thank you, monsieur." In fascination, Victoria stepped nearer to the mysterious man.

She fingered the woolen material of Erik's thick cape. Delicately, she rested her hand on his stern shoulder.

He jumped at her soft touch. "And not just for the warmth of your cape."

He felt himself blushing like a young school boy. Erik averted his reddening face. Victoria's astounded eyes met his porcelain self for the first time. She had retained full consciousness again, and remembered.

Although she had great difficulty speaking of the traumatic events of the Opera Populaire, Christine had spoken of this. And all of this.

The organ, candelabras, gondola, and intriguing white-masked Phantom. 'A Phantom blessed with the voice of an angel,' Christine had elaborated.

Victoria covered her trembling lips in astonishment, cautiously backing away from Christine Daae's Phantom.

_Could this possibly be?_

Tripping over her words and thoughts, "You—you—you are not dead."

Erik's legend was widely known, he knew, but not in such fine detail. She knew of his lair, his masked face. Her stuttering words and astounded expression hinted she was no stranger to his story.

Erik puffed out his broad chest with brewing anger, tightly clenching his fists. "Why, yes. And I am most sorry to disappoint you, clever one... I DEMAND TO KNOW YOUR NAME, GIRL!" He lost patience when she refused to respond. "I saved your insolent, pathetic, drowning self! NOW, I DEMAND A NAME!"

She spoke softly, almost in a whisper. "Victoria."

Erik echoed her name inquisitively, "Victoria…?"

"Victoria De Chagny." Not until the rich name had escaped her lips, did Victoria realize what she had done.

_De Chagny. _

She could already feel his infamous Punjab lasso tightening around her swan-like neck. Victoria found herself caressing it, instinctively guarding her throat from the Phantom's iron wrath.

The seductive rhythm of Erik's voice thickened, "A De Chagny, you say?"

She fearfully nodded as her breathing seemed to escalate. Her brown hair draped in front of her frightened eyes; she made no attempt to move it.

She was well informed of his sad tale. How he had fought for his angel, his love, his obsession, his Christine. How Raoul, her dear brother, so cleverly planned his ensnarement– his much anticipated execution, using his _one _weakness as bait: Christine Daae.

_He ought to ring my neck with a most satisfactory smile. And what bitter sweet vengeance it would be. The ideal crime. _

Erik closely examined the exquisite goddess before himself: thick brown hair dressed in golden hues… pout lips topped off with oversized dimples… hauntingly blue eyes?_ Yes, she could certainly pass as a De Chagny, _he confirmed.

"You do not have to fear me, Victoria." How unexpected; she was utterly shocked by his apparent humility. This man was far from 'the Phantom' Raoul had described time and time again.

His voice was devastatingly sad. Erik's pitiful face weighed down in agony and painful memories.

Victoria surprised herself with kind words, "I do not. You helped me… saved me. And I thank you."

He nodded in appreciation. Victoria studied his deep, heartbroken eyes. In those eyes she saw all the sorrow of the world.

Without thinking, "You must have really loved her—" Victoria was utterly shocked by her own insolence. She felt wretched–and, now, in fear for her life.

"You should leave."

"I-I am sorry. I should have not –"

Roaring, "LEAVE ME BE!"

His tense vocals eerily echoed his underworld. He hid his teary eyes from her vision.

_What morbid curiosity the little demon possesses…_

"Oh, I shall! Please, I promise to not expose you. It is but the least I can do."

He harshly stared at the girl, questioning her sincerity. The potent combination of her sweet voice and exquisite appearance caused an unavoidable interest in this Victoria.

_No, she is a cold-blooded De Chagny—and worse, that wretched Raoul's sister—forbidden to me. I dare not._

Erik silently cursed at himself for these twisted thoughts of his. Just as Erik's face had poisoned his poor soul, he found Victoria's beauty scorching it.

There was one thing left to say.

"Thank you…Victoria." She flaunted a charming smile in Erik's direction.

_Guilty._

Erik caught himself returning her kindness.

_Her affection?_

Victoria climbed into the gondola, patiently awaiting her mysterious escort.

Erik joined her.

"Erik."

"Pardon?"

"My name… It is Erik. Call me Erik."

Warmly smiling, "And I would adore to…Erik."

"Victoria?"

"Yes, Erik?"

"How did you manage to get yourself in such a mess tonight, if I may ask?"

Victoria shyly responded with an unavoidable embarrassment, "A rat. A wretched, wretched rat spooked me into your lake and arms, Erik."

He tried to resist his destined smile and hearty chuckle.

_Charming innocence. Innocence which is non-existent within the depths of hell._

"Oh, you mad, mad women." Erik suddenly felt strangely amused. Even happy. And, more oddly, Erik found himself trusting her.

Victoria and Erik were silent the entirety of the trip back, every so often stealing curious, silent glances. Erik led Victoria through his darkened chambers, finding himself unknowingly guiding her waist with his mighty hands. Her mind wanted to shun his seemingly affectionate touch; her body suggested otherwise.

He brought her to the familiar one-way glass. She slid the heavy plate aside, elegantly standing in the mirror's frame. In the darkness, all Victoria was able to see was his white, 'floating,' porcelain mask.

_Darkness truly does rule his existence_.

He began to turn away, beginning his descent back to hell.

"Erik?"

He met her gaze.

"Do…will I ever see you again?"

"Ah, my dearest child. You forget—you dwell in my house."

Victoria playfully tossed Erik his mighty cape.

She smiled at his clever remark and returned to her world, closing the magical mirror. Erik stared at the lovely brunette in the dressing room.

_Christine. _

Erik sighed.

She looked so much like his former angel.


	5. Eternal Ruler and White Lies

_Chapter Four: Eternal Ruler and White Lies_

"Looking a fright—like a wet dog, strolling about the opera house casually in the middle of the night…not thinking anything of it. Not the slightest hint to your rude, sudden departure?"

Raoul circled his pouting sister, arms crossed accusingly, eying her with a severe annoyance. He remained perfectly handsome and regal—never once betraying his kind heart—despite his attempt at interrogation. He continued, seething with mockery, "Why, certainly there is a fitting explanation for this irrationality."

He gave the pouting beauty a harsh glance, madly propping one eyebrow. "But then again—it is you, after all…"

Victoria rolled her eyes.

They certainly loved each other—in that one-of-a-kind, brother-sister form of love, of course. But, Victoria found herself feeling oddly bitter towards Raoul. She dared not say why.

Raoul leaned into her face; she felt his hot breath burn through her irritated skin. "Well! Let us have it? Out with it! Come now—"

"Oh, go away! Father would roll over in his grave at the very thought of your badgering!" She turned her face away from Raoul's with a flaming attitude; it reddened with a mixture of anger, bitterness, and guilt.

"I adore you, my sister. But, good heavens, you can be such a wretched pain in the neck!"

Victoria victoriously heard Raoul's surrender as he slammed the bedchamber's door, rattling the hollow room.

After Victoria's unusual encounter with Erik, she had snuck through the opera house, planning to pay the carriage driver a fine price to be safely returned to the De Chagny chateau. Poor, poor carriage driver; he always seemed to be patiently awaiting potential clientele.

_Sneaking home after a rendezvous with a mysterious gentleman._ Victoria felt as though she were sixteen all over again.

Shortly after Victoria had returned from Erik's underground palace, she had made her clever way through the empty Opera Populaire, slamming into a wall of manliness. _Ugh, Raoul. _

She cursed herself. _Should have known better. Honestly, now!_

Raoul always bossed and babied her. Not to mention, he watched over her like a hawk... a hawk stalking its pitiful and doomed prey. Granted, Victoria had a tendency to find herself caught in rather unusual circumstances. She was no child; a nineteen year old unmarried and widely desired bachelorette.

_Oh, you mad, mad men!_

Raoul was wildly concerned for his sister's well being; she loved him dearly for it. As Victoria dug into her cluttered thoughts, she discovered Raoul had made it an exhausting habit, 'fathering' women. She shrugged her thoughts away.

Raoul had found the promiscuous Victoria mid-night, sternly refusing her return to the De Chagny's fine manor. He demanded an explanation for such immaturity and thoughtlessness. Pouting, Victoria made herself comfortable in the bedchamber, which no longer harbored Christine's missed presence. Victoria frowned with nostalgia and guilt as she delicately stroked the cold, empty sheets. She missed her dear friend, Christine, terribly.

A haunting thought shadowed her mind: her perspective's, of those whom were dearest to Victoria, were now severely tainted.

Victoria was burdened with a fatal secret; its revealing could destroy, destruct, and kill. She made a vow to herself to try her best in honoring it.

Victoria found herself wondering if she was to ever cross paths with her new, unlikely, dark acquaintance again. Even hoping. She thought of how Erik thrived, lived, beneath her feet. Victoria's heart helplessly ached.

Despite the common claim, _Erik was no murderer, perverse being, or monster._ And far from it at that.

A gentle knock rattled the wooden door, followed instantly by an insanely sweet voice. "Victoria, it is I."

Christine poked her pretty face in, smiling ear to ear. The two attractive ladies stood, affectionately hugging one another in gracefully synchronized motions.

Christine might have squeezed the life out of Victoria. "Oh, I missed you far too much!"

"As did I!"

Christine and Victoria sat beside one another, studying each other with tender fondness. A dismal thought dawned on Victoria: Christine would expect to hear a story.

_An exciting story describing last evening's dramatic hype. My disappearance, tantrum, damp clothing, severely knotted hair, and Raoul's boiling frustration._

Before Victoria could cook up a satisfying and fitting tale, her pacing thoughts were cut off.

"Thank goodness Raoul is finally gone! I swore he'd never leave! Now, tell me all about your little adventure." Dusting her skirts, "And don't you dare leave out the juicy details, Mademoiselle!"

She had to admit: Christine's bright eyed interest was both charming and thoughtful.

Victoria stared blankly at Christine.

Playfully nudging stiff Victoria, "Oh, come now. You are certainly not one to be shy. Who is this intriguing young gentleman?…Do tell me, Vicky!"

Christine was beaming at the thought of the delightful gossip to come. After all, she was a married woman and mother; rarely, if ever, did Christine experience any form of youthful interaction or adventure.

_How refreshing._ For the first time in years, Christine found herself completely distracted from her worries and haunting memories.

With a forced smile, Victoria humored and fed Christine's childish craving.

"Well…He is a rather entrancing gentleman. Wildly attractive, in his own, darkly pleasing way. Somewhat withdrawn and stern, yet an undeniably sensitive persona…and, a mighty fine swimmer, as your eyes have already told you, I am certain—"

Excitedly cutting off Victoria mid-sentence, "Oh, Vicky! And what is this most mysterious man's name, might I wonder?"

"Erik. His name is Erik."

Christine nodded approvingly at the music of such a distinguished and powerful name.

_Erik—an Old Norse name—meaning 'Eternal ruler.'_

Christine pondered when she was to be formally introduced to Victoria's mysterious and secretive admirer. Victoria was dear to her. And, after all, this gentlemen was in critical need of Christine's approval.

It was simply customary.

_White lies…harmless, white lies. _


	6. Setting the Stage

_Chapter Five: Setting the Stage_

It had been one week since Erik and Victoria's unlikely meeting.

As much as Erik attempted to forget his awkward encounter with Victoria, he failed miserably. The more Erik convinced himself that the odd evening meant nothing, the more he found himself feeling otherwise.

In a single 'chance' evening, Erik had experienced compassion, amusement, and appreciation from another person for the first time in his pitiful life. But, as he reminded himself of his hatred and bitterness toward Raoul, he found himself resenting Victoria. They were family, sister and brother, from the same bloodline. Although Erik, himself, had never had the luxury of experiencing the love and support of family, he knew well of a family's inseparable bond. Say Erik and Victoria had miraculously found themselves tangled in a romance.

One word from her dear brother's lips, and it would end. And, end in utter devastation—and not just devastation upon Erik alone.

_For all._

He knew this all too well. Erik had played this role before: the role of the seducer, the 'Don Juan.' Both literally and figuratively; both on stage and below stage.

All Erik ever seemed to have in life were hopes, desires, longings and dreams. And, so, within the bowels of Opera Populaire, Erik found himself hoping, desiring, longing, and dreaming of (fill in the blank).

Never mind; perhaps, it is for the best to not dare and complete that murderous thought.

* * *

Had Erik known Victoria's own feelings regarding their peculiar predicament, he might have keeled over in disbelief.

As Erik was a man, Victoria was a woman. A woman with urges, passions—often forbidden, and desires of her own.

Like a moth to a flame, Erik had a darkly seductive way of drawing delicate beauty to his burning, flickering desire; only to scorch away the beauty's 'winged' innocence. She tried over and over, but could not successfully lie to herself. How could she? Erik had not only proved himself to be a surprisingly kind—no doubt troubled—but, nonetheless, kind man. Erik had rescued her and humbled himself completely.

That, alone, deserved more respect than Victoria had ever considered giving most men who she had experienced during her twenty-five years. In addition, being aware of Erik's lonely existence beneath her further fueled Victoria's thoughts and feelings.

Somehow, Erik had come to haunt everyone.

No matter how much he had resisted that evening, Victoria knew he had craved her, somewhat, on some level.

_Phantom or ghost, shunned or celebrated; men are all the same!_

Sadly.

Christine, once every so often, playfully pestered Victoria about her 'secret affair', forcing Victoria to expand her white lie. Victoria's head seemed to be constantly stuck up in the clouds; Christine knew something fishy, something hidden, was up.

* * *

Little Sarah's unique talents had not gone unnoticed. She had already landed a starring role in an upcoming–night production of Opera Populaire. Needles to say, Christine and Raoul were greatly pleased and proud.

This is what they wished for little Sarah, and she was receiving it on a gold platter. Sometimes, you can have your cake and eat it too.

Christine was still haunted by her Phantom; sometimes his voice was merely a product of her own troubled thoughts, other times, it was Erik's actual beckoning call. She quite often panicked, cried, and sulked within the privacy of her own bedroom and company.

Although Raoul, Christine, and Sarah lived their lives within a gorgeous estate, they spent the majority of their time at Opera Populaire. Raoul was a man born into fortunate; he was financially stable enough to vacation from work and spend much needed, quality family time.

Elizabeth was a married woman, age twenty-nine. She had no daughters or sons; only the not-so-sincere affection of her spouse, Miles. Raoul was ignorant to this, and, so, consequently accepted it.

Even Erik's stubborn, dedicated bitterness for Raoul often failed him; no matter how much he hated the wretched, poor-excuse-of-a-man, Raoul embodied kindness.

But, then Erik remembered and his thoughts returned back to normal.

_Remember. Memories haunt. The past kills. Hope for the future discourages. The present disappoints. _

Raoul De Chagny had come to gladly accept the 'death' of Christine's Phantom; but, he never came to accept the seemingly horrific torture which the Phantom had forced her through during his reign of Opera Populaire. Raoul loathed him.

_The foul, corrupt and selfish man had robbed his Little Lotte of her innocence and future. _

* * *

Sarah's anticipated debut was days away, and Erik dared not miss it.

Granted, he no longer held custody of box five; he would still manage a proper viewing spot. After all, rain or shine, Erik always had.


	7. Some Legends Never Die

_Chapter Six: Some Legends Never Die_

Christine sat in front of a crackling fire Indian style, nestling little Sarah within her lap. Sarah listened closely and attentively, her small ears perked and eyes wide, as Christine whispered stories—stories which drew her back to her own childhood. Indeed, from early childhood, until now, mid adulthood, Christine always found herself dedicating a portion of her soul to the angel of music.

As a girl, Christine had basked in the warmth of Daae's exciting tales of the "Angel of Music". After her father's death, Christine found herself praying to an angel that was promised to her—an angel that would guide and comfort her, help mend her shattered heart.

The Angel of Music answered her prayers, one evening, forever changing Christine. Christine's Angel gave her inspiration to sing again, and courage to pursue her musical dream. For many magical years, Angel and Christine's relationship began to transform, eventually mutating.

Erik concealed himself behind the cold glass of her mirror so many strange and promising years. But, on the evening of her debut, everything changed.

And, in that single evening, Erik had discovered many damaging truths.

Christine was no longer the young child which he had taken under his blackened wing; she had grown into a beautiful young woman…

Their moments together would now be scarce, for, Erik knew it was not him alone who was entranced by her bewitching elegance.

Raoul De Chagny had an eye for her. And, like Erik and Christine, he, too, had a relationship with her stemming from childhood.

The night she stepped through the magical mirror, and into her Angel's underworld, was the night that profoundly twisted Christine and Erik's mystical bond into something new–something forbidden.

The moment Erik's hands ran over the beauty's fleshy form, he was intoxicated—poisoned, and forever changed. She was so close, yet so far away. She had touched the beautiful half of his face, pressed herself into his body, absorbed herself in his mesmerizing song; yet, impossible barriers, he knew, existed between them.

They lived in two separate worlds, the mirror being the only passage which brought them together, as one.

Christine had never again fully returned to her own world, though, after hearing Erik's music of the night.

Raoul was a balanced, practical, and easy choice for Christine, Erik knew. And so, Erik played on Raoul's weaknesses in hopes to win Christine over—mystery, his voice, and the intriguing darkness of his world.

Soon, he had become a dark seducer, awakening Christine's womanhood.

And now, over eight years later, as she tightly held her young daughter, Christine found herself still prisoner to her past—to her Angel. Raoul observed his wife and daughter with sadness. Behind Christine's smile, Raoul knew lay heartache. Even after the Phantom's death, Raoul knew Christine still dedicated a portion of herself to him. And she forever would.

_The Phantom never truly released Christine from his underground world_.

"Forget me, forget all of this—forget what you know, of the angel in hell," was his last request.

_It had not been fulfilled._

Shaking his head, Raoul retired to their bedroom, where he too was haunted by the Phantom's songs.

"Maman?"

"Yes, my Angel?"

"Have you ever been visited by the Angel of Music?" Sarah asked, wide-eyed, and full of innocence.

"Yes, child. Once, very long ago." Christine spoke with sadness.

"But why just once, Maman… what ever happened to your Angel?"

Gazing into the fireplace, "I do not know, my child." Christine realized she had answered little Sarah's question in total honesty.

"Maman, shall I ever be visited by the Angel of Music?"

Within her daughter's curious, endless questions, Christine saw herself. For, she too, never had resolved these same questions.

Christine could not find the proper answer for Sarah, so she gave the simplest one she was able to think of. "I do not know, my angel." Pressing a kiss onto Sarah's soft cheek, "Just sing."

* * *

Raoul and Christine nervously held each other's hands as the curtain slowly opened, revealing their daughter. Sarah was Carlotta's daughter—in the play. It was a rather boring and cliché story line: boy meets girl, girl falls for boy, boy loses girl, all while Carlotta, the 'girl,' raises her daughter and tries to escape her tragic past.

_Yawn. _

Hopefully, Sarah's singing would make up for the dullness.

And it did.

Minus Carlotta's unpleasant shrieking, the show was a great success.

Christine wiped away tears of happiness from her smiling cheeks. Never had she been so proud.

"Oh, my little Angel, you did wonderfully—I could have not been more proud, love." Beaming, Christine lovingly squeezed the life out of the little diva. Raoul followed after, planting a kiss to her rosy cheek. "Oohh, icky!" Christine and Raoul shared a smile, as Sarah wiped away her papa's icky kiss.

Opera Populaire was brimming with excitement, a satisfied audience, and pushy newsmen.

Monsieur Bedeau, the new manager, broke his way through the crowd. He raised Christine's delicate hand, pressing it to his lips. "Seems as though Opera Populaire has discovered a true gem this evening, Madame De Chagny." Christine's amber eyes sparkled.

"Why, thank you, kind sir!" A hand gently tapped Christine's shoulder. Christine turned, giving Victoria a big bear hug.

"I was so proud of Sarah! The little wonder practically sent me in tears!"

"Oh, Victoria, thank you so much, dear. Hearing you say that means the world to me—and Sarah!"

Victoria flashed a warm smile, embraced Christine a last time, congratulated Sarah, and left for the bedchamber.

Victoria decided to enjoy a good book, as she waited for the excitement—and her family—to calm. After a long hour, Victoria was joined by Christine. Victoria folded her glasses, set down Jane Eyre, and cheerfully greeted her.

"Good story."

"Oh yes, I could not agree more! My second time reading it, as proof."

Christine smiled, "Yes, I too am guilty of multiple Jane Eyre readings. Forbidden love always did entice me…for some odd reason."

Victoria eyed Christine with suspicion. _Odd reason? _Victoria begged to differ.

Cleverly 'testing' Christine, "Jane reminds me of you, Christine."

"I?"

"Oh, yes. A talented, orphaned child…dedicated Christian, who tangles herself in a forbidden romance." Victoria ignored Christine's annoyed expression and continued, "Oh, and how Jane's lover's wife so insanely sets their home ablaze—and then commits suicide! Very tragic."

"HE did not commit suicide, Victoria. And, might I add, I know the story."

Victoria responded with false oblivion, "He? You mean Jane's lover, Edward?"

"Yes, He. Oh, wait no. I mean yes, Edward's wife."

_No. Christine lies. _

Victoria could not control herself. She spoke, and soon after regretted her words. "Oh, but she did! You must have forgotten that detail. And, I do believe, you so cleverly speak of your deceased Phantom, or I dare say, Angel of Music? Oh, surely you will admit, the resemblance is too close."

"I never loved him. You know this, Victoria. You ought to hold your tongue!"

"Did he not love you, Christine?"

"No. I believe he did not."

"On the contrary." Christine eyed Victoria with boiling anger.

_Why these questions, these utterly inappropriate questions of hers'? _

Christine spoke, trying to control her emotions, "Please, I would like to be alone, Victoria. I am sorry—tonight is not a good night for me. Exhausted, you know…"

Filled with guilt, Victoria caressed Christine's hand and left her in peace.

Victoria leaned against Christine's shut door, tightly pinching her eyes shut.

_Oh, curse my big, ugly mouth!_

She felt warmth pressed against her left side.

A rich, deep voice spoke in a whisper, "Ah, Jane Eyre. Always been a favorite of mine, I must say…Forbidden love, dare I say, just may be the best love…" He chuckled, amused by his own statement.

Victoria froze at the sound of Erik's voice. Her body tingled with an unusual sensation—a sensation that was new to her.

Something intrigued her about the man's unseen and mysterious presence.

"Victoria…Victoria De Chagny...I shall not lie...the girl, she sang like an angel...so much like her mother."

Hearing his beautiful voice whisper her name nearly sent Victoria over the edge. She opened her eyes. Erik almost fully blended into the dark atmosphere. He was wearing a black mask instead of his usual white one.

_Probably to ensure he would not be seen during Sarah's debut. _

"Yes. You must be proud."

Surprised at Victoria's remark, "I, proud...?"

"Can you honestly not see, or shall I say, hear? The girl sings through you-your voice...which was inherited from" Victoria stepped away from Erik, allowing some space between their two bodies, "Christine."

"Ah, I see. The way you spoke of me..."

Victoria swallowed. "I-I really do not know what to say, Erik. Sorry—"

Interrupting Victoria in a deepened tone, "I do not come for an explanation."

"Then… why?"

Erik leaned into Victoria's ear, tickling it with his hot breath, speaking in a soft whisper, "Ah, checking up on my house guest… Or, perhaps, quite simply... just a friendly greeting..."

And, like a true phantom...he was gone.


	8. A Point of No Return

_Chapter Seven: A Point of No Return_

Christine pressed herself into the Phantom's warm hold. His gloved hands ran over her slim figure—she removed his gloves with a sinful grin.

She allowed her Angel's bare hands to explore her body, bridging the gap between reality and fantasy at last. She could feel his heart racing as his cold hands lustfully caressed her.

With each passing second, his touch became rougher, more adventurous. Holding his hands, Christine placed them onto her breasts; he explored every inch of her.

His hot breath pierced her neck; she shuddered with delight. She turned her pretty face and smiled—a wicked smile.

Christine's hands massaged the Phantom's back, her nails digging into his stiffened body. His warm lips tickled her earlobe, sending Christine over the edge—past the point of no return. Christine exhaled a deep 'sigh' in ecstasy. She untied the Phantom's cape, allowing it to fall at their feet.

Christine unbuttoned his shirt, savoring his every expression, every sigh, and every touch. She kissed his bare chest, and peeled away his porcelain mask. The Phantom painfully struck her, waking Christine.

Raoul held Christine's trembling body near to his own, as she cried into his nightshirt. Lovingly, his fingers ran through her long, amber curls. Raoul tightened his embrace around Christine, who was madly shaking.

In a gentle whisper, "My love, it was only a nightmare… oh, my beautiful Christine. Shhh."

"Oh, Raoul… he was not a ghost nor phantom—but a man… who confessed his love to me, as his heart, broke…broke before my own eyes. Raoul—I never asked him his name… He pleaded for our hopeless romance… and I never even asked to know his name…Oh, Raoul…" She softly sniffled into Raoul's chest.

"Sweet Christine, my love…you are far too harsh on yourself…you needn't be so. It saddens me to see you in such pain…you must stop reliving the past—too often, it seems as though YOU, Christine, are but a ghost… so distanced, so lifeless…spiritless… "

"He lives, Raoul—in my mind—he haunts me, my dreams, my thoughts—and it frightens me so…why can I not escape the Phantom, Raoul, why…can I not let him go?"

Raoul sweetly raised Christine's chin, pressing a kiss onto her lips.

"The past has died, Christine. Let it rest in peace."

_Does my Christine regret the choice she made…a choice she was forced to make, so many, many years ago? _

The very thought tortured Raoul's mind.

* * *

Sarah rehearsed, her little lungs expanding to their limit. She truly was gifted with the voice of an angel—it could not be denied. Victoria grew sad at the sound of Sarah's beautiful singing; it reminded her so much of Christine's.

_Such a pity. Such a crime. Such a loss._

Raoul's voice interrupted Victoria's thoughts, startling her.

"Victoria, I am so frighted for Christine…at this point, I am at loss of what to do, what to say—I promised her no more darkness, my shelter, no more tears…yet, this is all she has come to know… I have failed her, my sister." His head sulked downward in agony.

"I refuse to lie to you, Raoul. I am terribly concerned as well—"

"Please, tell me… has she mentioned… him…?"

"You speak of Erik…do you?"

_Whoops. _

Raoul's eyes widened as he stared at his sister in a deadly silence.

_Erik? Christine…seeing someone else? Found someone else? _

Raoul felt himself growing faint. Victoria's thoughts drifted to the mysterious Erik, and that tantalizing voice...How he had so sensually whispered her name.

_Raoul. The Phantom of the Opera. _

She remembered her brother's dreaded history with the man, and abruptly snapped herself back to the reality of the tense moment.

"Erik…Erik?...By, God! Who is this—"

"Oh, silly me! Not to worry, he is just an old acquaintance. He attended Sarah's debut…parent of Sarah's dear school friend... Isn't that delightful, Raoul?"

_Phew._

Victoria's many years of fibbing her way out of sticky situations finally had paid off.

"…Yes, I suppose so…" _No._ Raoul shrugged Erik's name from his mind. Much more troubling thoughts tugged at his restless mind than those of this 'unknown, unspoken of acquaintance'...Erik.

"Victoria, Christine last night—while she was asleep, she was speaking 'of the Phantom' …over and over… she awoke in a sweat, and in tears."

"Oh, Raoul, the poor girl just had a nightmare. Come now, after such trauma it really should not be such a shock for you...unfortunate, most certainly…but shocking? Not the—"

Panic in his voice, Raoul cut Victoria off, mid sentence, "But... what really worries me is I do not believe it was a true nightmare, Vicky…"

"Oh? And why, pray, is that?"

"Victoria, she kept pleading for her angel." Victoria's mouth fell open as Raoul continued, his voice cracking, "She asked him 'to not leave her'… And, barely could I make out her faint words, Vicky…but I almost swear to it…" Raoul swallowed. "Vicky, Christine—I am sure of it—she repeated, ever so softly, and so very passionately… 'Angel, please…hold me…hold me, angel…my angel…angel…just hold me'…"


	9. The Demon in Erik's Lake

_Chapter Eight: The Demon in Erik's Lake_

_Hold me, my angel. _

Raoul's words echoed Erik's mind over and over.

_No…Christine's words. _

Erik collapsed at his organ and ran a trembling hand through his sleek, black hair.

_A wig. _

_A Mask._

_A Cloak. _

_Don Juan. _

'_My angel.'_

"Illusions." Erik bitterly hissed to himself, "Just illusions."

Pitifully, Erik wrestled with his tortured thoughts.

_A wolf in sheep's clothing. A gargoyle cursed with the voice of an 'angel.' _

_Ugly, monstrous…Inside and out. _

_Distorted, twisted. _

_Dark seducer._

No!

_An angel trapped in Lucifer's face. _

_Ugly outside. Inside: a timid, sensitive man, longing for companionship. _

_Just a companion._

_Passionate, genius. _

_A man, who once, was in love._

Erik knew how to easily settle such a pathetic dispute:

He ripped off his mask, forcing himself to meet eyes with the monster in his lake. Meet eyes with the truth…with Erik.

His deformity startled him. For over eight years, Erik had not dared to look upon the cursed face which had driven Christine Daae from his pleading arms. Those lonely, out reached arms, begging for comfort, for her loving warmth.

The cursedness that lay before him was more severe then he had remembered.

"Mother, make the monster in my mirror go away! It frightens me!" Erik recalled the first time he saw his face. His little, fragile hands were madly bleeding; Erik had defensively attacked the 'stalking' demon.

Madeline, Erik's loathing and terrified mother, threw the mask at him, her eyes remained shut, not daring to meet gaze with the little devil she had given life.

Over thirty years later, Erik's sad gaze ran over the foul, exposed flesh...

No eyebrow. Yellowish discharge of corrupt skin. No nostril; only a black hole into hell. A miserable, twitching lip. Sagging, red skin dressed his eye. An ear with no lobe. Grey hair.

The dusty, true, coloring of his hair, grimly reminded Erik of his age...how much older he was than Christine Daae.

_What perversion!_

"You are a pretty good looking fellow, eh?" Erik cruelly mocked the ghastly reflection.

He madly scratched at an itchy, deep-red rash along his cheekbone until it bled.

The bloody rash was a painful consequence of Erik's demi mask. The cold, porcelain surface constantly rubbed against his skin—or, lack of. Erik's rotten flesh was inflamed, irritated, and, now, bleeding.

Erik always wore his disguise; as if it were truly a part of himself, inseparable. He shamefully had hid this fatal flaw from everyone: his mother, Christine Daae, and now, himself.

Yet, there it was. Staring, taunting him; reminding Erik that this, demonic face, would be his only 'life partner', until death did them part.

His hand hesitantly slid over its uneven, cratered surface. Erik cringed with disgust.

_I cannot even touch my own face…how could a woman touch it... kiss it? _

"BEAST!" Erik roared at the gawking demon.

Sharply, Erik rotated his face, examining his 'human' side…

Thick eyebrow. Full lip that curves in a sinful grin. Smoothly shaved skin. Broad jaw, and flaring nostril.

Rich, emerald eyes. Erik's stunning eyes were his only symmetrical facial feature. Powerfully captivating eyes.

Not 'half' bad, Erik chuckled, amusing himself.

Uncontrollably, his handsome side brought Raoul into his thoughts. The handsome De Chagny.

_A face carved by God's good angels._

Intense jealously swept through Erik's boiling veins.

Was it possible...

_Was Raoul De Chagny jealous of me? Of Christine's undying 'loyalty' for her angel?_

Erik harshly glared at the sea monster, propping his non-eyebrow, "No." Erik confirmed.

He knew Raoul was a rational man, a man of stability, and fatherly comfort. Raoul had destroyed Christine Daae's belief in both angels, and that which could not be understood nor seen.

This man had come crawling to his sister in desperation, concerned for his lovely wife's unconscious 'angel' ramblings. Erik released a weak, mocking laugh.

Perhaps, Erik imagined, Christine really did dream of him. Her long lost, missed Angel of Music. She had, after all, dreamt of him... long ago. Christine Daae had ached for her Angel's comfort, song, and guidance. Then, Raoul De Chagny.

Her Angel had become fallen.

_No, she dreamed of 'her Angel', not Erik._

_And, There is no Angel of Music…_"…only you. Only Erik…" He spat at the foul face that lay before him with dangerous resentment.

Erik's thoughts hopelessly trailed, wickedly leading him back to those of Victoria.

Erik closed his eyes, exhaling a desperate 'sigh.' Victoria's beauty and elegance paralleled Christine's; there was no use denying it. Long, voluptuous, amber curls that blanketed Victoria's delicate frame.

_Feminine curves._

Victoria was far more endowed than Christine. Erik clenched his teeth with hostility and frustration. Why the cruel temptation?

He felt as though he were trapped in the 'Garden of Eden.' Surrounded by delicious beauty and temptations.

He was both Adam and the sly serpent. His 'Adam' was flawed with humanly desires, urges, and curiosity. He wanted to taste the forbidden fruit, experience what he was always denied. But, he knew too well of the consequences for succumbing to such taboo; Erik sealed his humanity.

Then, there was his 'sly, wicked, serpent.' The evil creature who destroys, deceives, and taunts him.

The serpent in Erik's lake.

"You..." Erik snarled at the swimming demon.

_Victoria...Christine...Victoria..._

His closed eyes saw visions of flawless angels, oceans of cinnamon curls, and fragile beauty.

Soft, pale complexion, like that of a true angel's. Sapphire eyes that scorched his soul, draining him of all will power. Her kind smile, and bright, glowing eyes charmed what remained of Erik's torn soul.

She was more beautiful, dare Erik say, than Christine. Victoria had fire in her soul; Erik could feel its warmth.

Full, blood-red lips that wickedly tested his self-discipline. Lips that had sweetly whispered his name: Erik. Not Phantom, Angel, or O.G.

_Victoria…those lips…_

In his forty-odd years of life, Erik had kissed only one girl… Christine Daae. And barely a kiss, at that. Christine had known Erik would crumble at her kiss; her affection. Her kiss had sucked Erik's pitiful spirit from his flesh, leaving him a lifeless corpse.

_The wretch might as well have kissed Raoul! After all…it really was for him. _

He cursed himself, "Pathetic."

It was hopeless; he was fighting a losing battle. He wondered the feel of her lips... the intoxicating flavor...

_Damn! Nothing! You have learned nothing!_

"YOU DEMON! YOU ARE NOTHING—NO ONE!" Erik growled at his reflection, challenging himself.

He pushed Victoria and her lips from his tortured mind. Erik had been left no other choice; the glaring monster would be certain of this.

It had taken years, but finally, Erik had lost his appetite for intimacy…for love. The past eight, lonesome years he had lived in complete heartache and seclusion. He had always lived alone, in shadows, and unseen.

But not like this.

Erik had, eventually, severed all burning urges of beautiful women, and everything they seemed to offer. It had not been easy. Granted, not seeing a pretty face for eight years helped the process.

Victoria's unusual entrance into Erik's lair, her entrancing beauty, and hearing of Christine's intimate dreams, destroyed all those years of Erik's hard discipline.

Once again, he found himself dreaming of beauty.

Yearning for heaven.

For love.

Affection.

DAMNED, WRETCHED RAOUL. Erik loathed Raoul; he wished Raoul to feel the fatal burn of his sins. Pay the dearest of costs... his life. And, Erik wanted help from his loyal, missed friend: Punjab Lasso.

_No. I cannot rid him. For, I am dead._

Erik vowed to himself…

_The two femme fatales shall be left undesired, unwanted, untouched... _

_Raoul De Chagny's wife, and Raoul De Chagny's sister. _

Now, that is low—the lowest of low.

_Even low for the ruler of the underworld…the devil himself!_

Erik sneered at his victorious reflection, "You win."


	10. An Unexpected Guest Part II

_Chapter Nine: An Unexpected Guest Part Two_

_Chapter is a tad racy...forewarned._

Victoria anxiously paced about Opera Populaire, guilt never leaving her mind. Christine was her sister-in-law, dearest friend, and brother's wife. She knew Christine had been in constant agony since her return to the opera house, unable to escape the ghosts of her past. Instead of embracing her, and reassuring her that all would soon be well, Victoria further antagonized the poor girl. How could she?

But then Erik entered her mind. The miserable genius who seemed to thrive as a ghost while the man died from lack of love. His sad eyes gave away his story. Those stunning emerald gems. Within those two glowing spheres, all the sorrow, heartache, and tragedies of the world could be seen. Victoria knew too well that it was far more than Erik's deformity which condemned him, sentenced him to the most torturous level of Hades…perhaps, "The Lake of Fire."

Victoria had attended Sunday mass for much of her younger years. "The Lake of Fire," she had learned, was the deepest and most painful level of punishment. A passage from The Book of Revelation never left her mind…"And the beast was captured, and with it the false prophet ... These two were thrown alive into the lake of fire that burns with sulfur."

He was claimed to be both beast and false prophet. He was believed to brim with beastly violence, and ugliness. And, at the same time, he was 'falsely prophesized' once, eight years ago…by a young chorus girl… But he was alive, and was suffering. Had he already felt the wrath of this fiery lake? Was it too late for Erik?

Victoria shoved such horrific thoughts from her mind.

She understood Christine's attraction to the shadow of a man. Erik was threatening and mysterious, and in the most erotic sense. That deep, hypnotic voice had the effects of a drug…loss of inhibitions, heightened sensations, and the awakening of your most forbidden desires.

She had never heard him sing. Yet, Erik's speaking voice alone sent Victoria in a whirlwind of indescribable longings. She often fantasized what would happen if he sang to her… what rich desires would unlock its door.

Victoria compared Christine's two men: her 'Phantom' and husband. She laughed to herself; they are more opposite than night and day! When Raoul had spoken of the Phantom to his sisters, he always talked of his insanity and corruptness. He failed to mention Erik's brilliance, odd charisma and talent. Now, Victoria understood exactly why.

Raoul was somewhat jealous of Erik, for he captivated Christine in ways Raoul never could. Victoria was gradually discovering Erik was a seductive creature by nature. Raoul De Chagny was desirable in the dreamy, heroic kind of way. Erik's appeal is what the darkest of fantasies are composed of—fantasies you dare not admit, even to yourself.

Imagine! A dark seducer who lives in an underground palace!

Raoul will sweep you off your feet…into the sunrise, white stallion and all. The Phantom will seduce you—reach out to you, pulling you through his magical mirror, and lead you through a throne of dark secrets. He will crown you the queen of his underworld and take you under his blackened wings. He had done so for Christine Daaé.

Victoria knew she needed to make things right again between her and Christine. Hold Christine closely to her breast as she wept, tell her all would soon be well, and it always would be…even if it were a lie.

For, Victoria feared all was not well and may never be again.

She searched the entire opera house for Christine, softly calling for her in a whisper. Victoria had already checked Raoul and Christine's manor and the De Chagny estate with no luck.

Victoria lightly knocked on the manager's office door. She waited for his answer, but it did not come. Victoria knocked again with a heavier hand; Monsieur Bedeau was nearing his seventies and slightly hard of hearing.

His gentle voice rang out behind the door, "Do come in, please."

Victoria found the shriveled man seated behind a large desk. She respectfully curtsied like the lady she was.

"What do I owe this pleasure to, Mademoiselle De Chagny?"

She smiled and seated herself. "Merci!... I am in need to speak with the Countess, and have not had any luck with her whereabouts…Could you tell me, Monsieur, when she is expected in the house?"

"Of course, of course, Mademoiselle." He brought a glass of brandy to his wrinkled lips and continued, "Three hours or so…for rehearsal, that is…Your little niece—what a gem!"

"Yes, she is. Merci." Victoria returned his sweet grin and rose from the chair. She spun away from his desk as she made leave for the door. Her skirts caught Monsieur Bedeau's ink-well within its material, pulling it from the desk, spilling its ink everywhere.

Victoria threw her hands over her opened mouth, "Oh, Monsieur! I—I—I do apologize!" She collected the empty well from his ink-drenched carpet. "Oh, clumsy, clumsy me!"

With the help of his cane, the old man limped over to Victoria. He tugged at her arm with a sincere smile.

"Mademoiselle, please, do not even think of it!"

Victoria stood, hand resting over her chest. She eyed the disaster that laid before for her. "Please, Monsieur, allow me to clean my terrible mess!"

The kind man pushed Victoria from his office, reminding Victoria such tasks were the maid's job, and she should not feel badly for her accident.

Back in the hallway once again, Victoria glanced down at her ruined dress, only thinking of the gentlemen's stained carpet.

* * *

"Oh, Victoria! What mess have you managed to find yourself in this time…?" Raoul playfully scolded her as he eyed her drenched gown.

"Oh, brother!" She rolled her blue eyes, not amused by his teasing. Her arms crossed with attitude, "Raoul, where on God's green earth is your wife?"

"My wife and daughter, Mademoiselle…" Raoul propped a hand on his hip, returning her attitude, "Are patiently waiting at the Bistro…"

_Oops. _

"You have forgotten our dinner reservations, have you not?"

"Oh, please. I have not!" _Have to._

Raoul's gaze narrowed on her ruined outfit. "Well, I came here to fetch you…once again."

"Oh…" Victoria stammered as she recalled telling a servant where her brother could find her. "Let us be off, then?"

Pointing a scolding finger at his sister, "I refuse to dine you at any fine Bistro in THAT." Victoria bit her lip and glanced down at her embarrassing attire.

Raoul pulled a golden pocket watch from his dress jacket, flipped it open, and returned it to his pocket. "No time to change at the manor, Vicky…Go see what you can make use of in Carlotta's dressing room, would you?"

Victoria grinned ear to ear and took off.

"And you best be quick!"

Victoria hesitantly entered the primma donnas' headquarters. She secured the door behind herself. Victoria lit a kerosene lamp, subtly brightening the room. Her eyes immediately gravitated to the mirror—a mirror that could lead her to Erik.

An eerie, yet pleasurable, tingling sensation shot through her body. She massaged her goose bumped arms.

Behind the cold glass, her sea of amber curls glowed, mesmerizing Erik.

_Christine! _

The mirror had been put in the dressing room by Erik. It was a quick and practical means of transportation to certain parts of the theater. Erik hardly used it when he was aware of someone being in the room…especially La Carlotta. Erik cringed.

He could not believe such good fortunate…

Gracefully, Victoria roamed about the room, never leaving Erik's gaze. She fingered the delicate material of Carlotta's elaborate outfits with a smile. She decided on a paisley pink gown with a satisfied grin. She laid the pretty dress across a mahogany dresser, hoping it will be a proper fit. Carlotta and Victoria had little in common; expect, just maybe, body type. She shrugged her tiny shoulders and began untying the endless laces as she hummed.

"No…not my Christine..." Erik muttered in a faint whisper. That hum was _definitely_ not his Christine's.

Victoria rotated her slender form, facing the mirror and its hidden guest. The stunning sapphire of her eyes penetrated Erik's soul and stiff body.

"Victoria…" He whispered, quickly adjusting his mask, as if she was able to see him. His eyes focused on her stained gown.

It struck him like a leather whip. She was changing attire, in this dressing room!

Erik became flustered. He felt his hot cheeks turning a scarlet hue. Never had he seen a girl 'au natural' in his forty-some years. He most certainly was not about to now!

Victoria slowly approached the mirror. She centered her stunning self, admiring her figure.

Erik was unable to resist such wicked perfection. Needles to say, he did the same.

She sensually pursued her pink lips and released butterflies in Erik's tummy. He swallowed a gallon of air and backed away from her alluring reflection. He walked backwards and slowly began his descent to the underworld, his eyes never leaving her beauty. Victoria's arms twisted around her body, tugging at something.

"Wretched…wretched…evil…thing…"

_Lacing! _

He was not going anywhere.

Even if he wanted to...Erik's stubborn feet were practically nailed to the stone flooring. They would not budge a bit!

Victoria swept her luscious curls from her neck, allowing better reach to the dreaded binding of her gown. She turned her hour glass frame, her back facing Erik and the mirror. She undid the many laces with greater ease, observing her handwork as she untied them.

He was grimly reminded of his humanity... the stubbornly growing bulge as proof.

_Praise one-way glass..._

Erik grew fainter and fainter as each lace became undone, further exposing her lush flesh. Soon, he was forced to prop a hand against the wall to keep his balance.

The gown loosened considerably, draping to the small of her back. She exhaled a relieved 'sigh.'

"Freedom at last…what cruel… torture!"

At this point, Erik was so faint, Victoria's words were inaudible.

His heart raced, madly thumping, threatening to burst.

Swiftly she turned, gifting Erik full sight of her exposed body. His eyes ran up and down the length of her, absorbing every delicious bit of Victoria De Chagny.

Erik felt himself overheating…the porcelain of his mask melting onto his damp skin.

_So, THIS is how it feels to be in my torture chamber!_

His weak legs betrayed him, sending him to the ground.

_'Clank!'_

The mirror madly rumbled, shook, and vibrated as Erik desperately tried to keep himself on his feet.

_OH, YOU MALICIOUS LORD._

Victoria jumped, startled.

She shrieked and wrapped her nude self in a nearby silk robe. She approached the mirror, her bright eyes flickering.

She was dangerously close, and Erik was frozen…half in amazement, half in terror.

Her hands madly pulled on the glass plate, pushing it aside.

Like a demon escaping hell, Erik took off—descending into his dark world.

"OH—NO YOU DO NOT! YOU wait RIGHT there…you—you—wretched Opera Ghost you!"

It was no use.

Erik paralyzed—dead in his tracks.


	11. Unmasking Don Juan

_Chapter Ten: Unmasking Don Juan_

_Again, a tad racy._

_'Alas! The love of women! It is known to be a lovely and a fearful thing.'_

He stood, paralyzed, in the dark passageway, staring at absolute blackness. The black of his corridors both welcomed and comforted him. Only in his dark kingdom could Erik feel light's glow. Only within the darkest dark could he find a ray of light; and, in the light, Erik only saw darkness. For, only in a night sky is the glow of a star's light visible.

On the night of 'Don Juan Triumphant,' Erik's darkness cruelly betrayed him. 'It is always darkest before the dawn' proved to be untrue, myth. Erik was stranger to happiness, only knowing despair. 'Don Juan Triumphant' was his dawn. Yet, he only had fallen further into his solitude, once again, swallowed by his darkness—by his curse.

He continued staring forward, not daring to face Victoria. He couldn't possibly stomach any more rejection; it would destroy him—murder the remains of his soul. But, perhaps, that was exactly the freedom he had been searching for: bittersweet release. Erik was tired of this life; he had enough of this cruel world.

Erik learned to reciprocate humanity's hatred; to despise all people, just as they had always despised him. It was a catch-22; denying his humanity only proved, he was, very much a dedicated member of the human race.

In his eyes, life was a mirrored torture-chamber… a cruel house of mirrors... a constant reflection of his suffering. Erik knew this house all too well—his torture-chamber… the brutal house of mirrors. An evil reminder of his despair, never allowing sight outside of its stubborn one-way glass… a taste of life, which exists, outside the prison of his tortured mind. His only choices: bittersweet release, death,or a lifetime of cruel, one-way glass.

Behind him, the rhythm of Victoria's panting escalated. Her pretty eyes would only hold hate and hostility. No longer would compassion be found within her sapphire glare. Like Christine, this tease of human affection had turned bitter cold… unfeeling. No, he did not love Victoria De Chagny; she simply poisoned him. Her frail beauty consumed and weakened him, leaving him defenseless and vulnerable.

Once again, Erik found Christine Daaé haunting his thoughts. Even in the midst of tragedy and death, Christine and her Angel had never fully parted. Erik and Christine haunted each other. Enough ghosts; enough phantoms!

He could not help but wonder if he and Christine were ever to meet again. Her angelic voice soothed his soul, taming his inner beast. He shoved these thoughts from his mind; she was forbidden to him, more so then ever.

Christine had betrayed Erik on so many levels, and in so many ways. He had given her the voice of an angel. She was his student, his desire, inspiration, and love. Not only had she forgotten the Phantom; she had disowned her Angel.

Despite Erik's every human flaw, he was in a way the Angel of Music. Like a wilting rose, Erik had tenderly nurtured her, bringing beauty back into her life, watering her with his musical brilliance.

_Does she still believe in Angels? Could she, possibly, still be awaiting her Angel of Music's arrival? _

Perhaps, he could inspire her voice once again; make her believe. In both of their cases, it could not have been truer: first love never, ever dies, or is forgotten.

Victoria spoke with anger and disappointment, "You—you truly are quite the ghost… are you not?" Only anger, "I owe you nothing!"

He understood her words—her threat. Erik, once again, would be hunted by all—vengeance boiling in their veins. They would happily kill their O.G. a second time. In his 'death,' Erik would be slaughtered. How many times must he feel the burn of loss? His Christine, his Angel, had soared away with his soul, leaving him a lifeless corpse.

With hesitation, Erik turned his body in the direction of her fierce voice. She intimidated and threatened him. Just imagine—the mighty Phantom of the Opera, being spooked by an enchantress!

_Foolish siren! How does she dare provoke me? Has she forgotten that I tried to choke the life from Raoul's wretched self? And, over a naïve child? She should not be so sure that I would not, happily, do it again… tempt me!_

The mirror was ajar, her slender silhouette gracing its glassless frame. In Erik's eyes, she appeared to be no more then an elegant, bewitching shadow—a seductive hourglass. Her pretty face sulked downward, dark curls blanketing her figure.

_Turn away… _Erik averted his glare from her beauty, back to nothingness. He liked darkness; it understood him.

Resentment empowered her words, "My brother—Raoul—and his Christine had spoken the truth, after all… you are no more then a sad, deceiving shadow of a man. A true, breathing phantom!"

Victoria did not fear Erik; she only pitied him. "Christine…you have earned her bitter mistrust, and now… mine as well."

His voice was monotone, lacking emotion entirely, "Wretch! Arrogant girl. How do you so easily compare yourself to an angel? To Christine Daaé? MY Angel puts you to shame, child."

Hands on hips, she spat, "Christine Daaé? Your Angel? You so passionately speak of the Countess, Christine De Chagny. Let it be known, Opera Ghost, no longer does she believe in angels… demons, maybe."

Her harsh words had not angered Erik; they only devastated him. Once, he wallowed in his sorrow, now, he was drowning in it.

Light footsteps echoed the corridor. The swell of his tears filled his eyes._ No, she cannot see… please, she cannot see…_

Victoria's tone softened. "I shall confess: I had refused, until now, to believe what was so ruthlessly claimed about you… blindly, I suppose"

_Enough!_

Face still turned from her, Erik growled, "If I am this opera house's phantom, let it be known that it is mans' fear and loathing, cruel rejection which makes me so! Oh, Victoria, Victoria… I have lived through, and barely survived more pain and suffering that I dare to even share with you…" His tear-stained face collapsed in his hands, "For surely, you would crumble at the mere thought of such cruelty, such injustices…" Toying with his mask, "And I would not bear that!"

Victoria sniffled, wiping away her descending tear. She disregarded Erik's scandal; her heart only pained for poor Erik. For his unfair fate, his mistreatment. Quite suddenly, she longed to embrace him; revive him with her kiss. Not a kiss of love or of intimacy—only a comforting kiss. She had been born into the lap of luxury; who was she to judge him?

A gentle breeze tingled Victoria's stiff body, reminding her to adjust the robe's drooping silk. She secured its wrap snugly about her waist. She felt exposed and humiliated all over again. Her petite hand grazed Erik's shoulder—he jumped at her soft, unexpected touch.

"I saw you, Erik, for you…for Erik…" Gently tugging, "I had accepted you, Erik. You know this—I know you do. So, why, Erik? Why would you do…this?"

Roughly shaking both stern shoulders, "Why abandon this birth of respect, of affection, I had grown… for you! Why must you deceive me, Erik? Why, once again, succumb to the darkness?"

_Affection…affection…affection… _The sweet word echoed his mind, taunting him... mocking him.

Victoria felt the sting of her destined tears; Erik was at loss of words. With each silent second, the melody of her breath intensified. In tears, "Why, ERIK, Why?"

Spilling his bleeding heart, "Oh, Victoria… you looked like an angel… so pure… since Christine, I had not seen such beauty, such heavenly perfection… it captivated me… what I have been denied, it poisons me… what is left of my heart, it pains… and for this, I am sorry."

His voice was gravely beautiful; like a weeping angel's. The tender words had escaped his lips without effort. Defenselessly, Erik had confessed himself, poured his soul, and deeply regretted it. Never had he felt so vulnerable, so exposed.

_What is to become of me… now? _Erik welcomed death with open arms.

Silently, her soft touch slid away from him. She returned to the mirror's opening. He followed after her, desperately searching her dim features for a hint of understanding, forgiveness. He could not bear living in complete isolation, complete solitude, once again. She was a poor excuse for a companion, yet, had been sincere enough to bring life to his dull world, dull mind. But, now, no compassion could be found in the depth of her sapphire gaze. Deeply, desperately, they gazed into one another's eyes, as if searching the secrets of their souls. It is true: eyes are the windows to the soul. Those pained eyes betrayed his every secret, whispered his every memory. They were terrifyingly stunning.

Heavy knocking broke their focus. "Victoria? You surely must be ready? Surely, you are! Please, be so kind and join me this moment!" More knocking, "Victoria? Victoria?"

She did not respond; she did not dare so much as move. Like the elder sibling he was, Raoul began fearing for his beloved sister. He knew too well that Opera Populaire was no stranger to rape and crime. Young ballet rats were constantly coming forth with horrific stories of perverse assault. Even ghost stories, being kidnapped by the Phantom, held hostage—made his _slave_. After his Lotte's terrifying experiences with Opera Populaire's infamous Phantom, he did not doubt any of these common tales.

The Opera Ghost had vanished, yet, the theater was still home to dark figures.

The door began to open, painfully groaning. Light flooded the primma donna's headquarters. Raoul was entering.

_No—I refuse death… death like this! The Phantom of the Opera deserves a greater ending to his legacy. Raoul shall not win. Not now, not ever. _

Raoul disgusted Erik; he hid behind a mask of self-righteousness.

Erik aggressively grabbed Victoria, clasping his hands around her tiny waist, forcing her into his unbreakable hold. He muffled her shrieks with his gloved hand, kicking the mirror shut with his boot. She panicked—vigorously squirming in his merciless grasp, desperately trying to break free of the opera's madman. With each jolt, Erik only pressed her closer to himself, restricting her movements. His steamy breath burned her neck, sending an eerie chain of chills through her stiff body. A fallen tear stained the silk of his glove. Victoria tried every tactic known to woman for escaping powerful men: kneeing his 'privates,' nipping his fingers, and so forth. Erik bellowed a deep 'grunt' in response to her nasty kneeing.

His mouth pressed against her ear. In a low whisper, "Be nice…"

Erik's unbelievable strength was not of this world; with only an arm, he could easily fight off her struggles. Even in the midst of such terror, such scandal, Victoria felt intrigued. He was so powerful, so mighty against her slender self. She was devoured by his extreme masculinity. With all her remaining energy, the little viper tried to kick at the one-way glass, praying Raoul could save her from the Phantom of the Opera's wrath!

Erik firmly held her against his torso, preventing any contact with his mirror. One arm encircling her fragile waist, Erik lifted her from the ground, carrying her deeper into blackness. Erik tripped over his long cape, sending him and the damsel crashing to the stone ground. The cape muffled their fall.

_Saved. _

She never left his arms.

He lay on his back, Victoria stretched across his tall body. Both of their chests were heaving in unity. Their lips were barely touching—barely locking. His fiery breath scorched her. Victoria shot her head up, away from his naked face; his mask had fallen. Darkness prevented sight of his deformity, but, her little hands managed to break free, pushing his lips and face far from her own. Suddenly, her struggling ceased. She became deathly still, deathly quiet. Soft ringlets ticked Erik's nudity. It felt so odd, so uncomfortable; his cursed half was stranger to even the most delicate of touch. Out of breath, he swept her curls from his ugliness.

Victoria was still, cold, and lifeless—like a corpse. _Had I crushed her?_

Had he given the poor girl a heart attack? Had his brute strength sentenced her to the grave? _So be it. _

She collapsed onto Erik's stone chest. The thin robe had fallen open, freeing her full breasts, wickedly pressing against him. The passageway was beyond cold—her erect nipples pierced Erik. She was so soft, so pure, so refined; Erik hard, rough. Equally weak, frail. A sweet fragrance filled Erik's nostril. It was a pleasant change from the labyrinth's musty stench.

She felt his body begin to madly quiver, shake. _Such unfamiliar, exotic torture. _

She carefully explored his unmasked flesh, stroking every crevice, every imperfection, every inch of the Phantom. _No nostril… no eyebrow… had he worn a wig?_ She shuddered, grateful for the darkness.

_Damn monstrous beast! Like everyone else, she will scream…or faint. _He was humiliated, on the brink of tears.

_She shall cry out for her brother, and shall be accused of rape! I will die at the Count's hands. Satan shall finally embrace me; the devil's child will be returned home at last. _

Victoria's fingertips felt dampness. _Tears? Oh, Erik!_

She stretched her swan neck to its full length, studying Raoul. Poor guy. He was clearly cussing, and had discovered the two abandoned gowns, alongside Victoria's broken necklace—a sentiment of their late mother.

She shifted her body downward, nestling her face into his chest. She pressed her ear against his racing heart, listening to its beautiful beat. It soothed her.

In the faintest whisper, "Oh, Erik, you are frightened." Her words were weak and unheard.

_Is she whispering to not alarm Raoul, give herself away…give me away?_

Panicked, Erik frantically searched the stone floor for his mask; he firmly pressed the cold porcelain to his weakness, where, he knew, it belonged.

"It—it is so dark…I—I cannot see… at all…but you can."

Delicately, she embraced his neck, bringing her lips close to his ear. His neck hair respectfully saluted her sizzling breath. Delicious shivers consumed Erik's stiff form, and her moist mouth tickled him. He swallowed.

In a seductive whisper, "You will need to carry me."

_'The devil hath not, in all his quiver's choice, An arrow for the heart like a sweet voice.'—Don Juan  
_


	12. Deadly Temptations

_Chapter Eleven: Deadly Temptations_

_Even more racy... forewarned!_

Erik rose from the cold floor, scooping Victoria in his strong arms. She was so light, so delicate. He firmly tucked one arm under her bottom, another around her chest. Victoria grasped Erik's neck as he snugly nestled her. She felt his racing heart pounding against her. His ivory shirt was damp, clinging to his form. The closer they got to his gondola, the more flustered he became.

What if she demanded to see his face? What if she unmasked him? And, her brother, Raoul—where would she possibly tell him she had been? She could not become another Christine Daaé, for everyone's sake.

Erik knew carrying the young mistress to his underworld was scandalous, truly a recipe for disaster. She had placed her life in the hands of a very dark creature. Why was she so carelessly succumbing to the Opera Ghost? Surely, she was sought by endless suitors; Erik knew this, everyone knew this. So, why Erik? Why the Phantom of the Opera? Erik did not know, Victoria did not know...

She was barely clothed, and certainly acting against her better judgment. What one does not understand, or cannot relate him or herself to, mystifies and intrigues. This man of darkness was pure mystery, unlike anyone she has ever known. Erik had distanced himself from humanity; isolated and dehumanized himself. But, no man is an island; nor phantom is a ghost.

Who would have ever guessed that this recluse, unseen genius, was robbing society of one of mans' finest minds? Quite honestly, the tragedy was humanity's.

Erik chuckled to himself in amusement...

What would Raoul think of the Opera Ghost and his sister's lewd encounter? And, Christine? Erik forced his Angel from his mind; he had too. No longer was Christine his; she was a countess, a De Chagny, Raoul's beloved.

She was knocking on the Devil's door. What tragedy shall follow this euphoria? He could not bare reliving Don Juan Triumphant.

He could control his burning desires, longings; for the most part, he always had. But this naïve, young beauty…could she? Would the Phantom's darkness consume her? Rape her innocence?

After seemingly years, Erik and his prize reached his lake…his gondola. He released her, spiraling her from his thick arms. Victoria stood facing him, only inches away. She always knew he was tall—but not this tall! Victoria's head did not even reach the height of his shoulders! What a man.

She strained her neck, trying to meet his gaze. Those stunning emerald gems. She saw no more than his glowing, porcelain half. But Erik was immune to darkness; the haunting blue of her eyes penetrated him. Haunted him.

Erik wrapped his oversized hand around both of her own. He leapt into the gondola, lifting Victoria. He set her down gently. The silence could have been cut with a knife.

Clearing his throat, he spoke in a low melody, "You ought to learn to swim...milady."

Appreciating his charm, she giggled; for some reason, her amusement made Erik uneasy. She seated herself, observing the enticing man's every move. Every breath. Every alluring 'swish' of his cape.

He lit a lantern that dangled from the gondola's front. He had ignored this lantern during his and Victoria's first meeting; it merely served as a dramatic effect. It, really, was a pathetic source of 'light'. This was one of Erik's endless illusions. An illusion to seduce Christine Daaé into his world. Make her fall in love with his darkness. But, she had fallen only in lust... consumed by a fantasy which was designed for her. A fantasy created by her loving Phantom.

The lake miraculously glowed. Sparkled. Hell melted into Heaven. Candles illuminated everything: the vast water, stone walls, Phantom, Victoria, 'house on the lake.' Studying her arousal, he thought to himself... She will never escape the Phantom of the Opera. She will be haunted by him now. Forever.

He stepped onto the pavement, Victoria pressed into his chest. The candles' warmth overheated him; Erik stripped himself of his cape, tossing it over his organ.

He was oblivious of his seductive ways. Everything he did stunned Victoria. Enticed her. Tempted her. Awoke her.

For some odd reason, Victoria could only think of _Dracula..._

_'I am Dracula, and I bid you welcome. We are in Transylvania, and Transylvania is not England. Our ways are not your ways, and there shall be to you many strange things. Despair has its own calms_..._'_

Victoria shuddered. Come now, Erik was no Dracula!

He studied the delicious length of her.

_'How these madmen give themselves away! The real God sees no difference between eagle and sparrow... in human vanity.' _

Her mind was fully absorbed, distracted; her robe exposed a generous amount of her. Victoria's full breasts pushed the robe's silk from her body; its tie emphasized her tiny waist, and the silk outlined her slender curves. His eyes removed her wretched robe, seeing Victoria's erotic body once again. Erik felt foul, he caught himself crudely staring at the girl, studying all her forbidden curves. Noticing his naughty interest, she adjusted her robe, defending her modesty.

_'I was afraid to raise my eyelids, but looked out and saw perfectly under the lashes. The fair girl went on her knees... bent over me. There was a deliberate voluptuousness, both thrilling and repulsive... she arched her neck, licking her lips like an animal, till I could see in the moonlight the moisture shining on the scarlet lip... on the red tongue... Lower and lower went her head as the lips went below the range of my mouth and seemed to fasten on my throat.'_

"She really was right… Monsieur Fantôme…"

Erik knitted his eyebrows, tossing her a confused expression.

"Christine—she spoke of your home…of its wonders…as if it were a beautiful fantasy…"

The words tortured him; he pained for his Angel. He was dead to her.

Proudly, "I imagine she spoke of my music, as well?"

"Why, yes…the music of the night?… Most certainly." Pursing her lips, "Please, sing for me…Angel of Music…!"

He could not believe her insolence. Madly roaring, "NEVER! NEVER ASK THAT… NEVER AGAIN! OR WOE TO YOU! PANDORA!"

He towered over the girl, reaching his full height—not an inch less. She cowered in his shadow. Oh, how his mood swings freighted her! Timidly, she nodded. Enraged, Erik knocked over a tall candelabra; it fell into his lake, its light perishing.

Erik growled and collapsed at his organ. The music of 'Don Juan Triumphant' gawked at him. For eight miserable years, Erik had not dared to look upon this cursed music—let alone play it. But, for an unknown reason, he recently longed to recreate his and Christine's opera.

With a deep 'sigh,' Erik averted his eyes from Don Juan, back to Victoria.

The poor girl had fainted! His madness drained her... terrified her. Now, she understood Christine's 'weary attraction' for the Phantom. He was threatening and very seductive, all at once. Victoria laid lifelessly before him, pale as a ghost. Perhaps, he was Dracula, after all.

* * *

Victoria relaxed in the swan bed's elegant sheets, her eyes drowsy—only half open. A black, lace curtain draped before her. A shadow broke through its delicate material, slowly slinking towards her. Behold—The Phantom of the Opera. All her sensations became hypersensitive, too easily stirred.

She shifted in the bed, a bit frightened… unsure of what his intentions were. He joined her in silence. Erik studied her; she was so helpless, her body pleading for his warmth. His stone chest pressed into her. He leaned forward…a kiss?

Victoria's heart skipped a beat; her complexion whitened three shades.

_'How blessed are some people, whose lives have no fears, no dreads, to whom sleep is a blessing that comes nightly, and brings nothing but sweet dreams.'_

No. Instead, his fiery words scorched her:

"I count no more my wasted tears;

They left no echo of their fall;

I mourn no more my lonesome years;

This blessed hour atones for all.

I fear not all that Time or Fate may bring to burden heart or brow;

Strong in our love that came so late;

Our souls shall keep it forever now.

My blood is mingled in your veins;

Of me you can never be free.

Colors burst behind closed eyes, for only your soul to see.

Curtains blowing soft and free in the surreal breeze.

How empty is my heart, how lonely is my soul;

For your wondrous illusions so mercilessly brings weakness to my knees.

Your voice works a magic deep within my soul.

My desire surpasses logic; a desire only you shall know.

Your body up against my own, the world around disappears; It has gone.

For me, you are a burning desire;

For you, my blood is consumed by passion's fire.

Crush me in your lustful clutch; Caress me with your poisonous touch.

Kiss away my wasted tears; Secure these binding doubts; Release me from my ever haunting fears.

This fire will soon be calmed; This need will soon be met.

And my heart, with happiness it will have wept.

No questions needed to be asked. No more shall my love be hidden; It shall be unmasked."

Her body tingled and spine stiffened. She had been pushed over the edge. She would have the Phantom, right here, right now!

Victoria awoke.

A sensual moan escaped the tight chamber of her throat. She sat up, disoriented.

Pillows. Lots and lots of silk pillows.

A thin sheet blanketed her. She rose, stretching gracefully. She found Erik seated at a desk. He did not acknowledge her. He was madly writing… composing? Victoria thought of her dream… oh, what a deliciously wicked dream... but, why a dream? No longer did she fear Erik. She hungered for him.

Frantically, he jumped at her soft touch, tossing the sheets of paper everywhere. He groaned with annoyance. Erik felt her delicately stroke the good side of his face; her hand slid under his broad jaw, tickling it with her nails. Her touch wandered to his cursed half, fondling the cold of his mask. Fearing she would unmask him, Erik stood.

"I must return you... to what ever horror awaits you…"

"Fear not; this shall forever be our secret…Erik…"

* * *

Shortly, Victoria was returned to his magical mirror.

Upon their arrival, Erik immediately turned away from her, descending to hell. She firmly grabbed hold of his cape. The subtle lighting elegantly enhanced Victoria... her perfection. A siren! Her lips parted, begging to taste Erik. Her breathing became heavy; the sapphire of her eyes flickered. Her desire was beckoning him... calling to him. For once, Erik was being seduced. He had not been this intrigued since 'Don Juan.' But now, there was no stage, no audience, no 'third' lover. Only him and her. Granted, 'Don Juan' had been far more than a 'sexy' display; it was his confession. He had spilled his soul, proving to all of those who loathed and feared him, he could love, and be loved in return.

_'No man knows till he experiences it, what it is like to feel his own life-blood drawn away into the woman he loves.'_

In silence, he approached her, dangerously close. Seductively, he outlined her chin, grazing the warmth of her lips. Flustered, she firmly pressed herself into the cold glass. She had awoken a sleeping beast. Oddly, his forwardness made her uneasy,yet, at the same time, further enticed her. This would be the final nail in the coffin. Their games had come to an end. No going back. Past the point of no return. The bridge was crossed, watch it burn.

Victoria was about to kiss Christine's Phantom!

Erik's hand brushed over her eyes, blinding her. His hand explored her… her slender body… amber hair… smooth flesh... tender lips. She felt the satin of his glove slip under the robe, very lightly grazing her thigh. A soft moan left her lips; Erik withdrew his hand, resting it on her neck. The rise of her breasts heaved with deep breaths.

Their bodies entwined. The combined heat of their bodies became unbearable; Erik was forced to wipe down his wet mask.

Victoria swallowed a thick lump in her throat. The heat of Erik's breathing was closing in on her, teasing her, scorching her. They could almost taste each other…their passions fused... surrendering to their dangerous desire, at last...

Erik jolted, backing away from Victoria and the mirror. Her eyes opened. He was staring…a piercing stare.

But his gaze was not meeting hers'. She rotated herself. What in the world could have distracted Erik from such an erotic moment?

An angel. Christine.

His Christine was beautiful as always. Christine glared at the familiar mirror, her eyes glistening.

Erik's gaze never left his Angel. Weakly, he cried out to her, "Christine…Christine…oh, Christine…my Christine..."

Like a true phantom, Erik had vanished.

_'She is one of God's women, fashioned by His own hand to show us men there is a heaven where we can enter, and that its light can be here on earth'._


	13. Christine Knows!

_Chapter Twelve: Christine Knows!_

Victoria was forced to wait several minutes before being able to step through Erik's magical mirror and into humanity. The eerie, cold darkness frightened her; without Erik's embrace, Erik's comfort, this dark solitude was terrifying.

Christine seemed to be fully consumed by her missed past—her missed Angel. She stared at the one-way glass for what seemed an eternity. For a brief moment, Victoria could have sworn Christine was about to make her way through the mirror! But, she had stopped herself; logic seemed to get the best of her.

_Perhaps, my brother has forced his 'childhood sweetie' to grow up, after all!_

Victoria studied Erik's lovely Angel, Christine, like she never had before. Like she never had studied anyone. Granted, Victoria was very beautiful… a rare beauty. Yet, Christine's beauty overpowered her own. Both were brunettes, slender girls, gifted with elegance and pretty faces. But, Christine, undeniably, resembled purity, chastity… an angel. A strange, foreign jealousy devoured Victoria. Quite suddenly, she became madly envious, even resentful toward poor Christine.

No longer was Victoria able to lie to herself. She was falling for Erik. For the first time in twenty-five years, Victoria was falling in love. A powerful combination of lust and love was slowly taking over her mind and body. She was beginning to want Erik, and in every sense of the word. Yes, she was certainly a virgin. But, this intriguing Phantom threatened to change that. Victoria could not help but wonder... after undergoing such emotional and physical torment, would Erik ever be able to love again? And, 'love' in all senses of the word. She feared it was only his Christine that could tame his inner demons, inner doubts. She had destroyed him; she could resurrect him. She smiled at his shyness; as terrifying as he often was, he was equally bashful. With the right confidence, Victoria bet he would make a wonderfully passionate lover.

_No! _Victoria forced such foul thoughts from her mind.

Never had Victoria known someone so passionate, talented, such an intellect, or so charismatic. Oh, and that voice! His voice had a life of its own. It was stunning, captivating, rich with divine secrets. It, truly was, the voice of an angel. An Angel of Music. Even his speaking voice was flawlessly beautiful. And, when he played his organ, caressing the ivory of its key, it felt as though his hands were running the length of her body. He touched those keys with such affection, such love. She felt almost jealous of this instrument. Maybe he would never bring himself to trust the love of another person... he seemed to already by absorbed in a delicious, intimate affair. An affair with his music, his compositions. Erik was a musical genius.

Victoria admitted to herself: his deformity, in her opinion, made him all the more attractive…more powerful, more mysterious; she inwardly scolded herself for such a morbid thought. And then, she remembered she'd only_ felt_ his sour side...

Oh, and how polite and considerate the Opera Ghost was! Well, besides the fact he had taken her hostage, of course. She had made the most unorthodox of advances, yet, Erik had remained poised—a true gentlemen.

_How could have Christine possibly chosen Raoul over Erik? _

Victoria cursed herself; what a horrendous thought! Victoria had been in his arms and lair, barely clothed, barely inhibited—and yet, coldly rejected. She knew too well that Erik would gladly sell his soul to Satan for the simplest kiss on the cheek... Christine's kiss. He was forever hers. Victoria laughed at herself; even if he did return her affection, what could it possibly lead to? Secret rendezvous? More mischievous kidnappings, mischievous lies? Oh, Erik was such a recluse. A secretive, private creature of the darkest dark. How she longed to know his feelings for her! Just what does the Opera Ghost feel for Victoria De Chagny? Victoria was determined to uncloak the sensitive man beneath this rugged disguise.

_Does Christine know of my disappearance? My possible kidnapping—rape? Why of course!_

She knew EVERYONE did; Raoul would have been sure of this. _What a worry-wart…_ Christine knew of Victoria's misfortune, only to think of her missed Angel!

After a lifetime, Christine vanished from the room at last. With a groan, Victoria stepped through the mirror. She waited several minutes before she dared enter into the corridors; she could not bear running into someone…anyone. With a deep gulp, Victoria left the room. A wall of flesh—and no, not Raoul! Womanly flesh… two sets of chocolate curls became one. Victoria met gaze with_ her._ Christine. This... was the very worse.

Christine just stood there, staring into her sister-in-law's guilt ridden eyes. She was in shock, unable to speak, unable to barely breathe… And both of Erik's girls, at that.

"I take it you are no ghost…"

"No, no, no, no—"

Christine interrupted Victoria, who was now dumbly stuttering her way out of the situation. She had been well trained in the 'art' of deception.

"Yet, you most mysteriously appear and disappear… I had been in that dressing room, Victoria. I had been in there, and you had not. I had stared into my mirror. Had you known this? Had you seen me, as well?"

Victoria knew her exact implications. This most definitely was the end; the end of her and Erik, her and Christine, her and Raoul—her and everyone.

"You know I have been hearing him. Hearing his beautiful, heartbroken voice... his loving songs echoing in my head… Suffocating me, my thoughts. You know he has haunted me. And you have even dared comfort me! You so casually allowed me to believe I had been driven to insanity's gate!" Christine continued, throwing Victoria a look that could easily kill, "Please, you answer me this instant! Am I rightfully insane?" No answer. "Am I being haunted? Has the Phantom's true ghost been haunting me, Victoria? Or, is there more than what meets the eye?"

Victoria's eyes rained tears. She was so scared, so threatened. She wished she were dead; a ghost which had the luxury of vanishing. Erik had conveniently vanished whenever he wished or needed. Why couldn't she? Being the Phantom certainly has its perks.

At this point of no return, there remained only two words which Victoria could possibly say:

"There is."

And at that, Christine broke into tears. Horribly cold, thick tears—tears which threatened to drown her.

"How—how could you? HOW! Like me, have you fallen under his spell?" Christine's thoughtful heart took charge for a moment; she sincerely worried for her dear friend's well being. Christine remembered, too well, the Phantom's lunacy and destructive, deadly, nature. "You tell me the extent of yours and his relationship. Should you attempt to deceive me, I will surely know! I am no stranger to deception."

"No more than innocent, curious interest, Christine! My innocence brought us together, my innocence brings us apart." At least her words were half true. Innocence had brought them apart; but, lack of innocence seemed to keep her fathoming his mystery.

Gasping, "Oh, stop kidding yourself. You are not innocent! You are far from it. You are quite the little Pandora, Delilah…" Pinching her eyes, "Oh I could just die! What humiliation! What madness! What wasted tears!"

Victoria attempted to comfort her with a hug, only to be bitterly shunned. "Do not touch me. Not after you touched him."

Christine had privately always thought Victoria to be somewhat of a tease. Consider this: had Victoria and Raoul not been brother-sister, Christine might have been hesitant for their meeting. She knew her Angel was vulnerable, somewhat desperate. But, at the same time, she was confident he still had eyes only for her. _Had he? _But why should Christine even care if he had or had not moved on? Christine had brutally denied him her affection, her love; what right has she to deny him the love of another? Even if it were her husband's sister, Victoria?

Why these utterly inappropriate thoughts? Christine loved Raoul; she was all he wished for, and more. Raoul was the light in her darkness, the hope in her despair.

"I did not touch him!" She felt foul for lying.

With murderous jealousy, "Did he sing for you? Did he make you his angel? Did he, Victoria?"

"No! I—I—admit; I had asked him to—but he refused! He only sings for you, Christine. His Angel of Music! Only you, always you!"

Quite suddenly, a strange, rather horrific thought came to Victoria's mind: Did Christine truly love her Angel of Music? More so than Raoul? Did she pick the Count, over her Angel, simply because she did not have the courage to love such a powerful, wonderfully passionate creature? Does Christine still love her Phantom? Victoria felt childish, stuck in a hopeless love triangle.

Christine did not speak for minutes; Victoria did not dare to break the silence. Although, this silence might have easily been severed with a knife!

"I wish to see the Phantom. And I ask that you bring me to him. You must; you are severely in my debt…"

"I—I—I cannot!" She felt horrible, just horrible. Her main reason was fear of loss. Losing him, losing herself. Besides, Victoria knew of his fragile, vulnerable state; she feared how another encounter with his Angel would end. Tragedy seemed to always be in the stars. Victoria could not bear see the Phantom crumble at the sight of such merciless beauty. She had grown to care for him far too much.

"Forget I mentioned it; I have no need for your help. I know of his whereabouts."

Victoria was stunned; never had she seen Christine so short-tempered, so upset. In a matter of moments, Christine had mutated into an ill tempered woman—no longer was she the lost, orphaned Lotte that she was. In a moment's time, it all came together for Christine. Victoria's continuous accusations, awkward questions. Now, it all made perfect sense. Christine felt beyond betrayed.

Raoul joined the two hateful ladies, absolutely fuming. His sister was simply unmanageable!

"Victoria! Where ever have you been? I hesitate to ask… are you quite alright?" Upon meeting the two sets of crying eyes, his anger melted into pure concern.

Christine answered for her. "Oh, yes my love, she is quite all right. Is it rather charming, really. Has she not told you, dear? Your sister has an admirer! A secret admirer!" Victoria's tears became anew. Uncontrollably, shamefully, she blushed.

Averting her scarlet face, "I have not!"

Raoul was immune to her fibbing. "Who have you been courting, Victoria? Tell me, who?" He had kicked into 'big-brother-mode.' In response to Victoria's silent tears, Raoul turned to his wife. "You know of this man, Christine?"

"Yes, Raoul. I have met him."

Victoria nervously fondled the material of her stained skirts; Raoul massaged his throbbing temples; Christine sighed.

"You already have, as well."


	14. Succumbing to Desires

_Chapter Thirteen: Succumbing to Desires_

_Quite racy... be forewarned. _

Victoria felt herself slipping further and further from everyone dear to her. Christine left for the evening, retiring to hers and Raoul's manor. Needless to say, she and Victoria weren't on speaking terms. After an exhausting session of persuading Victoria to join him at their manor, Raoul finally left, failing miserably.

Finally, she was _alone_. Tonight would be the point of no return.

Victoria lit a kerosene lantern, inhaled a deep breath, and stepped through the infamous mirror. Down once more… She had completely forgotten how frightening the cold, dim maze of the corridors was. Without Erik's hand to guide her, his embrace to comfort her, the lonely passageways were gruesome and terrifying. Victoria reached the vast lake after what seemed to be an eternity, immediately reminded of hers and Erik's first meeting. As she expected, the gondola was missing. She figured it would be with Erik at his lake house.

"ERRRRIIIKKKK!"

Her desperate cry echoed the labyrinth, the vaulted ceilings and stone walls amplifying her call. She waited for her Phantom... five minutes…ten minutes… With each passing moment she slowly began abandoning all hope. Just as Victoria was about to surrender, turn back—

"You called?" His rich, silky tone broke the dreary silence. As usual, Erik's unusually beautiful voice stiffened her; struck every nerve in her body. Victoria paralyzed, too nervous to speak, too nervous to move. She held her lantern, its light dancing across the stone floor in her unsteady grip.

Heavy hands enveloped her shoulders; she jumped wildly at his firm touch. Her lantern fell from her hands in response to his startling caress, shattering to nothingness. She and the Phantom fell completely in darkness. Victoria stared forward, seeing nothing. His sizzling breath wickedly pierced the nape of her neck. Erik pressed her body firmly into his, their two forms contouring, entwining as one. He gently pulled long curls from her neck, letting his lips graze its surface. Her throat was dry, her voice choked-up. She couldn't bring herself to speak. Instead, a rather unsettling squeal managed to leave her lips. Victoria felt Erik's chest rumble against her back—chuckling, amused by her 'girlyness.' The cold, porcelain of his mask rubbed her cheek, his unshaven chin grinding against her.

Erik's dry lips pressed onto her ear, as he challenged her with seductive words, "What brings you to my underworld…Victoria…" His hands ran up and down the length of her, the silk of his gloves cold against her tight skin. Rotating her slender body, "…De Chagny…"

She forced herself to speak, unable to stomach his tease a moment longer. "Oh, Erik…. Why must you torture me so…?" Her feeble words trailed off, fading into the surrounding darkness. Erik's hand cradled her chin, his finger fondling the flesh of her parted mouth.

His voice was throaty, his words playful. "Is this torture? I shall declare otherwise…" Unconsciously, Victoria's hand found his face, stroking the smooth porcelain of his half-mask. He took her tiny hand in his, guiding it away from his unfeeling mask, setting it on his handsome half. He released her hand, sliding his own down the elegant length of her neck, daringly brushing over her chest. His hands met her goose-bumped arms, heating them with a tender massage. Her entire body broke out in a chain of shivers; he removed his cloak, wrapping her in its warmth. (Although, Erik knew well it wasn't the cold which made her shiver.)

"If I am not mistaken… your body may suggest otherwise…. Victoria…" She stood stunned, the oversized material falling from her shoulders. Erik tightly secured his cloak around her. She felt him leaning into her mouth, painfully slow. Just as the Phantom was finally about to taste Victoria's lips, she pushed his face away. "Erik, no!"

Erik freed her from his hold, not taking her rejection lightly. Victoria felt terrible; she feared he had interpreted her denial the wrong way. Reassuringly, she reached out to his face, only to have him shove away her hypocrisy.

"There are some things you must know, Erik… which I don't relish telling you of." Not in the mood for childish antics, Erik leapt in his gondola, making leave for his underworld.

"It's…it's about Christine!"

"What... did you say?" Erik abandoned his gondola, just like she knew he would. He brought himself dangerously close to Victoria; the sting of his breath burned her. His breathing became labored, his temper shortened.

"You best not be lying to me, girl! Don't try my patience! If you foolish brother is able to teach you anything, let it be that!"

Victoria jumped back, startled by his harsh tone and threat. _What had Christine done?_ Sorry Erik—she won't allow herself to be scared off this easily!

"It's true!" Cushioning her tone, "It is true. Christine… she knows."

Erik froze, unable to breath, unable to move, unable to speak.

"Oh, Erik. She knew I entered the dressing room by means of your mirror. I—I am so sorry." Victoria drew back, giving herself the illusion of safety. "She knows you are alive. She knows you are here." Feeling queasy, "She wishes to see you again."

"She…does…?" If Victoria's lantern had not shattered, she might have seen Erik's discrete smile.

"Do you love her? Christine—you still love her?"

An intense moment of silence, then, "I fear I shall always love Christine." Weakly, "She's my angel…a part of my very soul."

"But you cannot!"

Erik planted his heavy grip on her shoulders, shaking her a bit too roughly. "Silence you foolish girl! You know NOTHING! You… you should have rightfully left me in my solitude!"

In response to his tantrum, Erik heard a pitiful cry rise from her throat. He immediately felt guilty for his outburst.

"Erik, you cannot love her!"

"Just… leave me alone!" His tone was more heartbroken than angry, "Go… just… get away from me! GO NOW!"

"No! I will not!"

He wasn't used to dealing with such a strong-willed female; Christine had only cowered in his shadow. Fidgeting with his uncomfortable half-mask, "What must I say… for you to understand you are NO LONGER WANTED HERE... your burden in my company!"

Softly, compassionately, "What did she do to you?"

Erik turned away, surprised by Victoria's brashness. Dumbly, "Whom do you speak of?"

Flirtatious and frustrated, "Oh, Erik…" A feminine sigh. "Must you always be so coy? Please, do tell me. What did she do to you?" Bravely setting a hand on his stern shoulder, "I… I have come to know you. 'Don Juan', the fire, Joseph Bouquet…" Under her breath, "my brother, Raoul... it is not who you are. Something… happened. Something unforgiving, vile… between you and Christine. I ask that you tell me."

Erik felt conflicted, torn: Victoria's words were sincere, but, at the same time, overly challenging. She was demanding too much; he felt her words and his cruel past suffocating him.

"Not who I am… you say?" Turning towards her, "Oh, but it is. You've met Erik…. not yet the monster…the Phantom…the beloved O.G." His tone was dangerous, sinister.

Backing away, "Erik…please… you are frightening me!"

"Wish to know the real Erik? The Erik behind…" Forcing Victoria's hand on his mask, "THIS?"

He was intimidating, no doubt. But, she would trust her intuition. "Yes."

The unexpected happened: Victoria ripped the porcelain from his cursed flesh, meeting eyes with the man behind the mask at last.

She thought he would shove her away, yell, curse, and condemn her. Instead, he stood paralyzed, lost in her beauty. He longed to be handsome, deserving of such perfection.

"Oh…Erik…" Victoria dropped his mask at their feet, comforting him with a sweet embrace. "Is this… what you believe drove Christine from you?"

Her face was propped over his shoulder, her fingers firmly, but tenderly, digging into his broad back. Erik refused to speak. Instead, she felt his entire body trembling in her hold. His warm tears dampened her shoulder.

"I… I was her angel. She called to me..." Between tears, "…even loved me. Until she saw..." Erik's hands left her back, madly wiping away his merciless tears in humiliation. "I asked her to not fear me. To see the man… the man I wished to be... for her. For Christine."

Victoria pulled back from their tender embrace, dabbing away his tears with a handkerchief. Erik saw her own eyes swell with tears; tears for Erik.

"I am not Christine. And this…" Caressing his deformity, "…doesn't change how I have come to see you… it doesn't change my love."

"What did you say?"

"You cannot love her. You cannot love Christine.…I love you."

"No—nonsense. You don't love me! Hold your twisted tongue."

"You cannot choose who you love... I know you are no stranger to this! But, unconvinced are you? So be it." Erik pushed her away, confused and vulnerable. He knew no one could love him, this loathing monster—his past had confirmed this, time and time again.

"Then I shall show you my love."

"Enough!—"

His words were swallowed by her lips. She kissed a moist trail to his deformity, refusing to neglect an inch of the Phantom. Her warm mouth sent his head spinning—he couldn't push her away, even if he wanted to. Victoria returned to his mouth, locking his lips in a tender kiss—a lover's kiss. Their two heartbeats pounded in unity.

"Did Christine ever give you this love, Erik?" He swallowed, not yet returning her kiss, but not rejecting it. He weakly breathed the painfully honest word into her mouth, "No."

Her kiss deepened. Speaking between her kisses, "Erik… let me love you… Show you life doesn't have to be lived alone… lived in darkness…" Shyly, his hands tangled in her amber curls, slid down her back, finally knotting around her tiny waist.

"You… you really love me?" He wanted to believe her so badly.

Her head fell backwards with a relieved sigh. In the 'girly-est' way possible, "Oh, God yes! Yes! Love me… that's all I ask of you."

His response was pleasantly overwhelming. Erik scooped his prize in his arms, setting her down in his gondola. He returned them to his underworld quickly; the anticipation of the night's promising events was driving him mad. He was incredibly anxious, and, at the same time, damn excited. His emotions were almost palpable; waiting to be molded into….something. Victoria eyes refused to part from her Phantom the entire boat ride. She giggled inwardly; Erik was clearly too bashful to return her gaze.

The trip to Erik's lake house was the most tortuous five minutes of her life. The gondola smacked against the pavement at last, awaking Victoria from her daze.

With a new confidence, Erik scooped her in his strong hold, taking her breath away. He carried Victoria to the neglected swan-bed, releasing her in the satin sheets. Before succumbing to their burning desires, he took a moment to study Victoria. Sprawled across the rosy sheets, she peered up at him lovingly beneath her batting lashes. Her angelic beauty brought his thoughts to Christine. He remembered how she once filled the bed with her perfection… the heartache, deceit, and rejection that followed soon after.

Victoria's neckline was low, scooping off her shoulders. She had woven a few roses throughout her chocolate curls. This also brought him back to Christine; Victoria resembled her 'Don Juan look' dangerously close.

But Victoria was not Christine; her soul was fiery, daring. Erik could feel its heat. She was no wandering Lotte. His eyes took a moment to savor the woman who claimed to love him. He yearned to return her love, but feared Christine had already sullied his soul. Victoria's beckoning eyes, velvety hair, and sweet smile were waiting for him.

Erik felt like a true, flesh and blood _man..._ at last.

Victoria also took a moment to study Erik. Never had she seen a more intriguing man. His body was close to a God's, Victoria playfully thought. His emerald eyes pierced her soul. In her eyes, he was stunning. His deformity was terribly ugly—gruesome. But, Victoria knew Erik had more serious scars, more painful scars, than his disfigurement. She longed to heal them, kiss them away.

Victoria playfully tugged at his cummerbund waist, bringing the Phantom just where she wanted him. She teased him with a flirtatious growl, "Come here... You... you Phantom, you!" He collapsed on top of her, his hands tangled in her hair. She became devoured by his overwhelming manliness. Erik wanted to find love, but knew Christine would forever rule a tender part of his soul. Victoria or no Victoria: Christine would always be his angel.

Victoria awoke a sleeping beast; Erik smothered her with his kisses and rough touch, his hands courageously exploring her body. It was as though Erik's intimate touch was instinct; a lifetime of denial was being brought to life... taken out on Victoria. He couldn't believe he was experiencing true intimacy for the first time. He savored every touch, every shallow breath. His touch became more and more adventurous with each caress.

His aching hands inched down her neck, sliding over her delicious landscape, finally wrapping her waist. He elevated her from the sheets, cradling her in his arms. He tasted her neck, delighting at the obvious pleasure he was giving her. The games of make believe were at an end, their flames consuming them whole. What he had been denied, Erik finally claimed as his own.

"Wait… Erik."

Erik forced himself to tear away from Victoria—and it was no easy task. Unable to speak, Erik gazed into the depths of her sapphire glare.

"Erik… do you love me?" Victoria quickly feared this was the wrong moment to ask such a critical question.

_Like most men…would he say just about __anything?_ But, she knew: Erik was unlike any other man.

"Angel…?" Victoria knew of only one entrance to the Phantom's lair. But, Christine had never forgotten 'that path into darkness deep as hell.'


	15. Christine & her Angel

_a/n: REVIEW!...or a disaster beyond your imagination will be yours! :)_

_Chapter Fourteen: Christine & her Angel_

Christine stood dumbly, her body stiff, gaze sternly fixed on her Phantom and sister-in-law.

"My…angel?"

Her perplexed glare shifted from Erik to Victoria, back to Erik. Tears swelling her eyes, Christine turned sharply on her heel, fleeing from the lair and all its demons. Erik immediately rose from the silky sheets; Victoria tugged at his cummerbund waist in desperation.

"Erik! No, wait…you haven't yet answered me."

Transfixed, Erik continued to stare at the empty spot where his angel had stood only moments ago. His rabid stare frightened and unsettled Victoria; her churning stomach swallowed her throat.

Again, Victoria pleaded for an answer, now overtaken with tears, "You haven't answered me, Erik!"

Victoria felt her desire for Erik begin to turn cold; still he hadn't responded. After a few more lingering moments of cruel silence slipped by, Victoria struck Erik across the face. But, not too hard —only hard enough to wake Erik from his disturbing 'Christine-trance.' To her amazement, he didn't even flinch; this discomforted her. Had Erik's deformity become so immune to touch…to pain? Or was _their _past so twisted, so fragile? What truly is the Phantom of the Opera and his Christine's love story...Victoria imagined.

Erik rose at last, clumsily stumbling from the swan-bed. He met Victoria's harsh stare, following the distinct trail of her eyes—which lead to his trousers. Blushing, he quickly zipped them, trying to maintain his composure. He bellowed a beastly growl, attempting to mask his obvious embarrassment. Victoria's unwavering gaze stayed planted on the nervous-wreck, as he frantically searched the rosy bed linens…for something.

Sassily, "Looking for something, are you, monsieur?"

Erik smoothed back his unkempt 'bed' hair, making himself more presentable. "Where…where is my mask?"

"Do you not recall? You had left it at the landing. Where you and I shared a kiss." Victoria stood, arms folded under her chest. "…you had forgotten it entirely."

Unresponsive, Erik stumbled about his elaborate home, frantically searching for a replacement mask.

She could hear him mutter French profanity beneath his breath..."Se cassent, Dieu unloving!"

Losing patience, Erik ripped through his compositions, only semi-aware that he'd kick himself later for disturbing their order. Realizing he was hopeless and maskless, Erik threw a candelabra into his lake, the water snuffing its flame. He began to panic, and took a moment to pound an unbearable tune on his organ.

Victoria had to bite her lip from screaming, 'you fear Christine will loathe you without the mask!' Instead, she felt her anger melting into pity. He stood stiffly, hating himself, wrestling an inner-demon.

He finally began to make way for Christine; Victoria latched onto his dress shirt.

Coolly, "You have not seen Christine for eight years…" Buttoning his shirt, eyes not leaving his, "I should expect you wish to see her being perfectly modest?" She smoothed out his dress shirt's imperfections. Erik observed her handy-work, surprised by her sincerity.

He forced a weak smile and ran his masterful fingers through her soft curls. Pressing a soft kiss to her forehead, "One would hope. Thank you."

Weakly returning his forged smile, "It is rather disappointing. I hadn't expected this from you, Erik."

He stopped, turned, and questioned her. Growing impatient, "What…?"

"I confess my love for you… prepare to give myself to you from that love…and you cannot so much as acknowledge a yes or no question? It is quite simple, really. You are supposedly a genius…are you not?"

Erik's eyes departed from her face, falling to her heeled foot. Expressively, she clicked it against the stone flooring in an odd rhythm.

Erik shook his head, stifling a chuckle, "Quite simple…you say?"

"Go…go tend to Christine, Erik!" Walking dangerously nearer, "But, do remember the way it had felt…eight years ago…when you were brutally denied at your most vulnerable moments." Madly brushing away tears, "We are not all that different, you and I. We simply wish to be loved for ourselves."

After a husky intake of air, "There are ghosts of my past which need resolve…" Erik shifted uncomfortably, then added, "…if I should ever hope for a decent future…" Nearly inaudible, "…with another." Tenderly stroking her cheek, "I will be back soon enough."

And with that, Erik left his throne, chasing after his missed angel.

A weak cry escaped Christine's throat; she felt a powerful shadow press her into the stone wall. Despite the pitch-black corridor, she knew the shadow was her Phantom. His strained, familiar breathing pattern gave away his unseen identity.

"My…angel…it…it really is you?"

Trembling, Erik gently grazed her cheek with the back of his hand. His eyes fell heavy, appreciating his angel's delicacy. Christine could feel his thundering heart beat pushing against her own.

Sniffling, "Oh, angel…I believed you to be dead."

Straining his tears, "I was always dead to you…was I not?" It took many moments before Christine could bring herself to speak; his hauntingly beautiful voice deliciously curled her toes, embraced her. Returned Christine to his mysterious, promising underworld. Erik is forever her Angel of Music.

"Quite the opposite I should say. It was you who inspired me…gave my life beauty, my voice soul…"

Erik hesitantly wrapped Christine in his arms, offering his comfort. Her angelic voice was heartless; Erik grieved for her sadness.

Sweetly brushing away her tears, "Christine… why are you crying?"

"You have visited her... haven't you?"

Erik nervously released Christine from his embrace. He spoke in a dry, throaty tone, "Yes. A…few times now. I couldn't help myself. She has her mother's voice... that of an angel's."

"Sarah—she had told me the Angel of Music had come to her…I had privately hoped it to be you…" Christine finally smiled. She briefly returned to her warm past. A beautiful symphony of musical brilliance and mysterious encounters. With a paining heart, Erik did the same.

She caressed Erik's deformed cheek, her hand instantly drawing back from the uneven flesh. Erik forced himself to ignore her hurtful gesture. It was dark; he knew Christine couldn't tell his beautiful half apart from his cursed one.

Breaking the heavy silence, "Has Raoul been good to you?" The name left a bad taste in his mouth; Erik hated the man with dangerous passion.

Erik's fingers unknowingly brushed through Christine's soft curls, his opposite hand stroking her damp cheek.

"Why, yes. He has been wonderful…yet, he is not my angel."

Coldly, lacking emotion entirely,"I am no angel, ghost, nor phantom. I am a man—and my name…it is Erik."

Almost childishly, "But you'll forever be my angel."

A moment of silence, then, "The choice you made… you are content with it, Christine?" His rich voice weighed down in painful memories, but, was also lightened by a stream of hope.

"Most times, yes. Sometimes, not. I often wonder… how our life would have been, together."

Erik's body stiffened at her unexpected words, his breathing labored. His fingers swept through her hair a last time, returning to his sides. Christine sensed his immediate discomfort "I… I am sorry. Should I not speak of the past?"

Christine read Erik's silence. His fingertips shyly teased her hair, aching to touch his angel.

Christine spitefully recoiled from him, remembering. "You and Victoria…it's just… beyond appalling!"

"Appalling, Christine? What, may I ask, was the least bit appalling?"

Between short breaths, "Why, that is just—just rather low of you… I thought you better than that…Erik."

Tears and a bleeding heart, "I loved you, Christine…far more than myself… I… I fear I always will."

"You fear?"

"You left… you started a life of your own, abandoning me… abandoning singing. Do you think me so undeserving, too monstrous to seek love of my own…apart from your ghost?"

"Victoria…you… love her?"

"I…I don't know. But, she has claimed to love me—and by God…" Sharply, defending Victoria's honor "… if you or the Count so much as question her integrity!... She holds no place in our past!" Softening his tone, "She has been good to me."

"But that was rather…indecent of you, won't you say? I had thought you better than that."

"Indecent? Why, it appears you hadn't known me at all, Christine Daae." Erik used her maiden name with a smug grin.

"What—"

Bitterness and unhealed scars empowered Erik's words. "Still think me a beast, do you? I may have been deprived a lifetime of intimacy… but, I assure you... I never abandoned my 'decency'… Quite the challenge to believe, isn't it?"

Erik's toughened voice startled Christine, constricting her speech. She had forgotten how intimidating the Phantom could be.

Privately licking his wounds, he continued, "I wouldn't have taken your sister-in-law to bed if I hadn't felt some sort of...understanding, connection. I hesitate to say that even I am more man than that."

"I understood you, connected to your music!" Erik jumped back, startled by Christine's daring choice of words and implications.

"That seems a bit indecent… of yourself. Would you have preferred me to keep you as captive_, have you_ for myself? Prey on you?"

Outlining her jaw line with his chilly fingertips, "By, God, Christine how I longed to love you as a man would his wife." Pulling back, "Christine...do you remember unmasking me? I had pleaded for you to find the man I wished to be... Longed to be, for you! The man behind…" Tenderly resting her hand on his deformity, "…this."

"I had, and still do, see the man… Erik."

He spoke, exposing his soul, "No. If so…" Erik gently rested his hand over Christine's abdomen; she stiffened at his advance. "…this would be mine."

Erik's hand slowly slid from her stomach, returning to her delicate face.

"H-How did you possibly know…that I am with child?"

"You forget, my Christine… You dwell in my opera house."

For some reason, Erik's unexpected knowledge touched her soul. Created an intimacy between them. "Oh…Erik…I….I am hesitant to think even Raoul knows of… this."

Christine felt Erik's body tighten. His breathing became strained, uncomfortably heavy. The intense reality of the moment—of his Christine, in his arms—suddenly claimed him. Erik released her, backing away.

Cruel memories and thoughts suffocated Erik: Don Juan, the chandelier crash, Christine's heartless rejection…her beautiful life with Raoul. He longed to be Raoul, deserving of Christine, and of everything she offered. He had only ached to be Christine's love; never the father of her children, a true, genuine lover. His empty fate was strangling him.

"You… you betrayed me terribly…"

"Oh, my angel… I was young…I never meant to—"

"No! Don't claim me as your angel when you've failed to show more respect than one would a wretched demon! An unforgiving beast." Between shallow breaths, "I…I loved you. You were my soul, my music, my voice. I gave you my music, offered you myself." Roaring, "Yet, now, you refuse to even sing! You have deliberately disowned me... in every sense." Shamefully, Erik cradled his tear-stained face. "How, Christine?…how…"

Erik took a moment to reign control of his emotions. He buried his face in her soft hair, savoring his Christine. He was her undeserving soul mate.

Faintly, the damaged man confessed in a whisper, "It was you that made me want to be a man. Abandon my hellish solitude and all its comforts. Your loyalty, false affection, taught me to love. Love even myself. Yet, your rejection confirmed my doubts. Humanity's heartlessness. In a way, Christine, in the end... it was you that made me the Phantom."

Christine felt far more demonic than her Erik. His sensitive side, vulnerability, warmed and tortured her soul, all at once. She longed to kiss away his scars. For a moment, she prayed Victoria's love to be sincere. He was aching for love, and dying from loneliness. Secretly, she wished to have the courage to return his love.

Here was a man who had so much to offer, yet lacked the strength to do so. Guilt ridden, she longed that the baby in her womb, the miracle growing inside her, was Erik's. If only he could celebrate the miracle of life; share a part of himself with humanity. She knew his child would have been beautiful.

Not until this moment, did Christine realize just how much her angel meant to her. Quite suddenly, Christine feared she could never live without her Erik. She felt unworthy of him; his brilliance, unconditional love. His obsession was unveiled.

The Angel of Music and Christine Daae were starcrossed lovers.

Tenderly, she enveloped Erik's shaking body, pulling him close to her pleasant warmth.

Accepting her comfort, "Pity… You offer me pity, Christine… nothing more, nothing less."

Christine carefully perched on her ballerina tip-toes, reaching the height of Erik's lips. Pressing a soft kiss to his parted mouth, "Is this pity?"

The flesh of his lips were wrapped in a distinct, teary, salt-like flavor.

A long silence. Erik ached to return her kiss, her affection. He wished to embrace his beloved angel, never intending to let go.

His unearthly, sad voice reflected his damaged soul. "What do you wish me to say, Christine, what? It is love…?"

In a delicate whisper, "I…I don't know, Erik… I suppose I always have, and always shall have love for you… for my angel of music…angel... You too, are a part of my very soul, my Erik..." Her tender words caressed him.

"I… I am sorry, my beautiful Christine. Forever I will love you… and plead that you continue to sing... If not for yourself, then for me. Never could I not love you. My heart… it aches for you, Christine… forever it will." Pressing a soft kiss to her cheek, "You made your choice. Now, I shall make mine."

Like a true phantom, Erik was gone from her life.

_(a/n: __"Se cassent, Dieu unloving." Translates to: "F-ck off, unloving God." Please, don't take it seriously._

_On a side-note, the day I would dare destroy Erik & Christine's unconditional bond would be the day the cows come home. __A BIG shoutout & hug to EVERYONE who has reviewed/read! You all are wonderful & keep me inspired.)_


	16. Learning to Love

_Chapter Fifteen: Learning to Love_

Christine stood limply, her breathing shallow, body firmly pressed into the wall. She couldn't shake away the disturbing thoughts and emotions which threatened to destroy her. Her angel, Erik, had betrayed her! Hadn't he? Christine scolded herself; her hypocrisy was cruel and twisted. Wasn't her Phantom entitled to find love, happiness? Light in his dark world? Christine had eight years ago. Raoul was her light; was Victoria his? She returned to Raoul with a heavy heart, knowing too well her Phantom would continue haunting her.

The dark return to his lair was torturous. Erik's mind and body were heavy, his painful past and lost love weighing him down. The maze of corridors seemed infinite, endless. To his dismay, he soon reached his awaiting dark world. The bountiful candelabras and their overwhelming illumination mocked him. Blinded him. He wished for absolute darkness.

He scanned the lavished throne for a sign of Victoria. The swan-bed was empty; the gondola hadn't been disturbed. Where, in God's name, was she?

"Christine…" Victoria's irritated voice boomed behind him. Erik swiftly turned to her voice, locking her unpleasant glare. Her sapphire gems were restless, fiery—this clearly wasn't the Victoria which he had left behind. After a dangerous silence, Erik inquisitively echoed the name beneath his breath..._Christine_... Victoria's eyes narrowed; his own dropped from her tight expression...down to her hands. A vast collection of various artwork and writings were clutched near to her breast. Erik's churning stomach swallowed his throat, visibly flustered by her finding. Victoria out held a charcoal portrait of 'Christine donning angel wings'. She tossed it at his feet.

Louder then before, "Christine…" Victoria thumbed through several more portraits, all of Christine. The drawings were exhaustively alike, all praising Christine's purity and stroking her musical brilliance.

Clearly, many of the portraits were sketched while being observed. Watched. In the chapel, mourning her father's death…sleeping in her bedchamber…rehearsing… Christine Daae's adoring Phantom had documented her entire residence at Opera Populaire. Victoria carelessly tossed the remaining portraits at Erik's heel.

A deep sigh, then, "Christine's!" Erik's misery sank to a new low; Victoria forced three aged, leather-bond diaries in his hands. A black, satin—vaguely familiar—ribbon bound the trio as one.

The ill-gotten diaries were far more than a young lady's mindless ramblings and longings; they were shards of Christine's broken soul. Her nine year stay at the opera house was a time of mourning and loneliness. Even after befriending Meg Giry, who had become close to a sister, Christine passionately confided in _these_ pages. To Erik's satisfaction, she spilled her bleeding heart. After his angel would fall in a deep, peaceful sleep, Erik kidnapped her diary. Each night he read each entry—over and over, savoring every word, every page, and every sentence. Every confession; every longing. He was sure to do this nightly. It became an exciting ritual. Through her thoughts, Erik came to know Christine better than anyone else had ever known her. His obsession grew, and, soon enough, the Phantom of the Opera was born.

The first 'volume' consisted of endless, heart-wrenching letters addressed to her deceased father. She desperatley sought out his missed guidance, his wisdom, and promises. It was Daae who had seen her musical talent. Unearthly potential. She was no doubt gifted with the voice of an angel. Unfortunately, this was a mystery to almost all, even herself. She was young, stranger to fame and fortunate, naïve, and concealed within her own distresses. Perhaps, it was the tragedy of her father's death which withdrew her from the stage. He was, indeed, her best friend. A pillar of strength and love. Without him, her future seemed hopeless. But Daae found a clever way to include 'The Angel of Music' in all his tales. He prayed this myth would inspire little Christine's aspirations, long after his ascent to heaven. And it most certainly did.

Her father's dying words never ceased to haunt her. "When I am in heaven child, I shall send you an angel, an _angel of music_." When young Christine asked her father if he had been visited by the Angel of Music, he sadly shook his head, "You will hear him one day, my child! I will send him to you."

Erik gradually began to see that she was in need of his guidance as much as he was in need of _her_. Erik decided he would take her beneath his blackened wing. He would offer Christine Daae the gift of music.

"No one ever sees the Angel; but he is heard by those who are meant to hear him. He often comes when they least expect him, when they are sad or disheartened."

The second diary spoke of Christine's fond memories: Raoul, her merry childhood, and longings. Quite clearly, these entries had been written by an older, more mature Christine. She had a vision, but no will.

The third, and final 'volume,' disturbed Victoria most. It had been written over approximately a two year period. Page after page was dedicated to Christine's 'Angel of Music.' She had always kept 'her angel' a secret.

Victoria couldn't believe how deceitful and misleading Erik had been... He so slyly deceived this lost child, claiming to be an Angel. An Angel sent by her late father!

Yet, Erik became much more than her maestro. He was a mentor, father figure. Victoria hadn't read all the entries—but she had read more than enough.

The final writings hinted Christine's growing suspicion of her Angel's legitimacy. The unseen, musical genius had turned jealous, demanding, cunning and possessive. With time, threatening. His humanity had ruined him, sullying their bond. Blackened his wings, soon tearing them away.

The final entry told all:

_'November 19, 1870 _

_Dearest diary, _

_I am bothered. Angel told me this evening, "my Christine…you are not to seek out any suitor or gentlemen. For, if you do, your Angel shall surely know—he sees all. In that event, I shall cease to further instruct you; never will you hear my guiding voice again, my beautiful Christine. As long as you remain faithful to your loving Angel, I will forever protect and adore you." _

_I love and appreciate my Angel, but sometimes find myself fearing him. Why, father? Surely, you wouldn't send me anything short of purity. Did you truly send me my angel, father? Who, my father, is this divine being... this genius whom guides me from his shadows... sings me to sleep__—now, haunts me?  
_

_Is there more to this 'angel' than meets the eyes? Hannibal is two evenings from now! As usual, Carlotta will be claiming the lead. I must agree with my Angel; her voice resembles a toad too wonderfully!_

_I miss you papa. Wishing, somehow, you could be here again...  
_

_Yours, Christine Daae'_

The diary's first entry marked her 'Angel of Music's' first visit; the final entry was written only evenings before Christine's descent to his unholy lair. Everyone but Erik's one friend, Nadir, was ignorant of his cruel past. His loathing mother, gypsy master, and the Shah's wrath remained Erik's dark secrets. Even now.

"Oh, Erik…how could you? You stole Christine's most intimate thoughts, using them to fuel your own unorthodox motives! This affection you claim for Christine seems not to be love, but a demented, poisonous obsession!"

Collecting the artwork from his feet, "Your home is a shrine…a most twisted Christine shrine!" She thoughtlessly crinkled his artwork; Erik cringed.

This was the wrong evening to antagonize Erik. Enraged, he spat, "You have no business in my belongings, child!"

Victoria hated when Erik addressed her as 'child.' It was condescending and clearly meant to intimidate her. It would not work. Not this night.

"These…" She pulled Christine's diaries from his unsteady grip. Sardonically, "are not your belongings, my dearest Erik!"

"I loved her! By God! I loved Christine far more than my own self! It was our mutual passion, shared connection for music and a haunting past which kept me from ending my own, miserable existence! I needed Christine with me… yet cared for her far too much to damn her to my living hell."

Unconvincingly, "I-I may not be as mad as one may think!" Arms wide, he gestured the lair, "_This_ is how I dealt with my loneliness. Survived my solitude... made amends with my curse."

Victoria was surprised just how much Erik's words affected her. Yes, he had deceived Christine—but had also been her one comfort. He blessed Christine with the voice of an angel. Inspired her musical dream. Gave her reason to sing again. Victoria knew Erik had never physically harmed her... intimately touched her. Even after Raoul's return and her brutal betrayal. The Phantom and his Angel guided one another through those dark and lonely years.

"Erik?" Erik was relieved Victoria's voice was gentle, rather than angry. "You still love Christine, do you not?"

"Yes. Christine will forever be a part of me... my soul." Erik knelt to the floor, collecting a portrait, thoughtfully fondling its faded parchment. "My angel."

Stepping dangerously nearer, "Shall I accept there is no room for me in your heart? Please, I give you only moments to answer this! If you refuse... refuse my love... forever you will be rid of me." Her voice sharpened. "You and your beloved Christine can live together, down in the opera's bowels…until death does you two part!"

She jumped at his quick and brutally honest reply. "I do not love you, Victoria." But his tone was soft, sad, and broken. Those eyes whispered his every secret, every heartache. Reflected his damaged soul.

He studied her beauty: Victoria's sapphire eyes welled with tears, her pale complexion whitened three shades. Her chocolate tresses contrasted elegantly against her snowy flesh. Could he never love? Had Christine sullied him?

Saying nothing, she handed Erik the three diaries, eyes never leaving his. She turned away, leaving Erik to himself. But, before her first step, Erik firmly grabbed hold of her, swinging his body in front of her own.

Digging his fingers into her shoulders with rough affection, "But I want to love you." Erik's grip loosened. His masterful fingers combed her silky tresses.

Sad desperation filled the depths of his emerald gaze. He was wrestling some inner demon; longing to be a man—be loved, but caged by his merciless past and suffering. Victoria knew he was crying out for understanding. _A chance._

His hands left her hair, running over Victoria's milky neck and shoulders. "I won't allow you to leave here…" The silk of his gloves felt cold against her aroused skin. "…leave me."

Victoria crossed her arms with attitude. Gasping, "A threat is it? Let it be known—my brother, Raoul, would be down her quicker then you could say 'O.G.,' my good monsieur! Care to have the beloved Phantom reborn? So be it!" Even more attitude, "I do warn you, though—Monsieur Bouvier...the manager... will not so easily believe in opera ghosts or spooky phantoms!" Erik bit his lip as Victoria imitated the infamous, feminine shrieks, "He's here! The Phantom of the Opera! Oh no, what ever shall we do?" Holding back a giggle, "Unlike those dimwits... Firmin and Andre..." Senselessly trailing off, "Oh! And thanks to a certain someone, there is no Joesph Buquet to help..."

This little siren was no wandering Lotte! He had to admit: her backbone was refreshing.

Interrupting the deranged girl, "Not a threat." Deepening his rich tone, "A plea. Victoria…lead me from my solitude." The powerful melody of his voice wrapped her heart, claiming it as his own.

She felt torn, conflicted. What was the Phantom asking of her? He was more destroyed than she ever had imagined. Perhaps, some men can never be redeemed.

Stifling her tears, "I-I cannot. I do not trust you. Cannot trust you… I refuse to become another Christine… succumb to your dark world. Not I." Then, bashfully, "You and I… if it hadn't been for her return… we would have…"

Victoria's gaze left his, timidly scanning his throne. Her eyes strained against its harsh illumination. Erik smiled inwardly, reminded of her youth—and his own age. He could easily be her father!

"Made love?"

Eyes still averted, "If that's what you wish to call it…" Puckering her lips, she continued, "...yes."

"I cannot yet _love _another. Let alone myself. Yet, I also believed I would never give another intimacy. When your affection showed me I could…I felt like a man." Stroking her cheek, "Which is why I have faith…" Enveloping her waist, "…that perhaps, you could teach me to _love_ as a man, as well."

His desperate and honest words caressed her soul, renewing her affection. For such a recluse, Victoria marveled how outspoken he could be. Indeed, these words were uncomfortable, daunting. But didn't Victoria deserve his respect? The truth? No more angels; no more phantoms. Only Erik...

Erik secretly wondered if Christine Daae truly was his angel. Just maybe, Victoria De Chagny was the promise of light within his black despair.

In a whisper, "Victoria... it's all I ask of you."

_A/n: Erik's past follows Susan Kay's novel. Christine and Erik's relationship goes off the movie & play. _

_I hope you enjoyed, and are happy with the direction of my story! I personally always wondered how Erik knew so much about Christine's father's 'angel of music' tale... so this is my solution... haha.  
_

_Thank you so much: _

_The Duelist's Heiress – Thank you, your kind reviews always make me smile!_

_ThePhantom'sLuver1221 – Yay for Gerry's tushy!_

_PhantomsAngel07 – Here you go! –tosses you a Gerry-_

_Lady Wen – I always appreciate your reviews and suggestions._

_PKS – Oh, I know! –mischievous grin-_

_LorraineJane, tigermoonlight67, Hot4Gerry, and every other reader/reviewer!_

_Ok, don't you forget to drop a comment/review! Or else let it be war upon you all! :)_**  
**


	17. Erik Again

_Chapter Sixteen: Erik Again_

"Raoul…" Christine inched toward her cross husband, feeling guilty.

How could she have possibly thought twice about the choice she had made? The life she had chosen? The man she had chosen! Reconsidered her fate? Christine never felt more foul or alone. Raoul was suspicious, hurting, knowing too well things had changed. Something had come between their love... their trust. Raoul wish he knew what. Was it possibly the Phantom of the Opera? Was that poor, lost soul haunting her from the grave? Like Christine, the Phantom sang his sad songs in Raoul's mind each night. Raoul knew: the Phantom—or Angel of Music, as Christine too often sighed beneath her sleeping breath—came to her in dreams. In her dreams, they sang together. They shared their love of music. Christine and her angel's bond was one the 'human race' could never know...

Somehow, someway, the Phantom had come to haunt everyone. But he was dead now... wasn't he? Would Christine ever recover from that terrible darkness? Would she forever be haunted? Belong to _him_? Completely ignorant to his Christine and her Phantom, he could only think the very worse.

Christine knew she had betrayed Erik beyond forgiveness. His heartbroken words would forever torture her:

"It was you that made me want to be a man. Abandon my hellish solitude and all its comforts. Your loyalty, false affection, taught me to love. Love even myself. Yet, your rejection confirmed my doubts. Humanity's heartlessness. In a way, Christine, in the end... it was you that made me the Phantom."

Erik had loved her, and still claimed to, yet rightfully closed his heart to her. But was Christine really _in_ love with Erik? She was so confused; 'love' had become such a deceivingly cruel and twisted concept to her. Christine had loved her father, her angel, Raoul, her daughter, sister-in-law... Erik? Love is such a blinding thing. And jealously the darkest shade of evil...

She had robbed Erik the chance of love once; Christine refused to do so again. And so, she decided she would do everything in her power to keep Erik's presence a secret. His and Raoul's little sister's strange affection—affair—to herself. She knew this could severely damage her and Raoul's love—even marriage; but, it was a risk she was willing to take. It would torture her, haunt her. Quite possibly destroy her. So be it. It would be her sacrifice.

Raoul puffed on his cigar, stubbornly averting his gaze from Christine. She gently turned his face toward her own, aligning their gazes. And what intense gazes! He tensed at her touch; exhaled a deep sigh.

"Oh, Christine… Why such secrets?" No response. Another hearty sigh, then, "I cannot help but think all of this… your distancing, pain… is only fault of my own." As usual, Raoul's voice was perfectly docile, comforting.

"Oh, Raoul, my love!" She wrapped him in her arms, reassuring him of her affection. Genuinely taken aback, "How do you speak such words?"

Raoul tenderly grasped Christine's hand and slipped off her wedding ring with a frown. Christine massaged her ringless finger, feeling strangely naked and exposed.

It was more elaborate than the ring he had given her eight years ago... The same ring she had given to Erik. What had once been a token professing Raoul's endless love, shortly became a symbol of Christine's undying loyalty for her angel. She couldn't give Erik her heart, but she could give him her commitment. And she had. For fifteen years Christine had kept her Angel of Music in her thoughts; his music in her soul.

Christine swallowed her stirring stomach, fearing the meaning of Raoul's bold gesture.

"When I gave you this, and you accepted, I had promised you light! No more darkness; no more phantoms." Slipping her ring back on her nude finger, "Yet darkness…phantoms… it is all you have come to know."

"Raoul— "

Raoul's voice suddenly strengthened, his words empowered. Cutting her off mid-sentence, "You have become but a phantom, yourself! So spiritless, disheartened…"

"No, no, no, no! It's not true, my love! You've given me that and more!"

"Then why the sadness? It pains me…seeing you this way. Christine, I love you... have always loved you. You should know this! I love you, and loved your dear father in heaven… God rest his soul."

Snuffing his cigar, returning Christine's embrace, "Please, share with me, let me be your light… as I was eight, long years ago." Hugging a now sobbing Christine close to his chest, "Won't you? Oh, my Christine…" Bringing her hand to his cheek, "Touch me…" To his heart, "Trust me…"

Once again, Erik consumed her thoughts. Erik's 'music of the night' devoured her; the Phantom's tender words echoed her restless mind. Raoul's touch—Raoul's words—only reminded Christine of Erik's. But Raoul's promised security and love; Erik's had promised his sincerity, renewing Christine's damaged trust.

_"Touch me, trust me... Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in... to the power of the music of the night..."_

Her memories, the ghosts of her past, would never die. Never be put to rest. The Phantom of the Opera would be sure of this.

Christine wanted to confess her troubles so much! Let Raoul lead her from solitude, darkness. But she couldn't. Not this time. He was her light; how could he think otherwise?

Forcing a weak smile, Christine could only bring herself to confess:

"I am with child."

Raoul's sapphire eyes sparkled at her surprising words. Every little worry, every sour memory, left his thoughts. For a promising moment, that is…

"Why, that's marvelous!" Raoul hugged her with every bit of his love. Pulling away, sweeping stray strands from her pretty face, "But that's wonderful! And so, not possibly the reason of your distress…."

"In time, Raoul, in time." Raoul tilted his head inquisitively, expecting more. His Little Lotte could be so confusing! Christine continued, praying Raoul would understand. But she barely understood herself; how could she expect Raoul to?

"In time I shall share with you my troubles." Turning away, "First you must let me face them on my own… then together." Holding his hands with tough love, "If not so, they shall never cease. Please, you must try and understand… Somehow, someway…"

Proudly resting one hand over her growing womb, the opposite one encircling her waist, "And I shall."

Raoul pulled Christine into a tender kiss. Christine withdrew her lips. A bit hesitantly, "I—I have been doing some thinking."

Smiling, "Yes?"

"Our child to be… if it's a boy… well, I'd very much like to call him Erik."

Raoul echoed the seemingly random name under his breath, "Erik…"

Hadn't he heard that name once before? Raoul shrugged away his confused thoughts. It was great—Christine was having a baby!

"If it's a boy, that is."

"Erik? After who, my love?"

Christine paralyzed, her heart skipping several beats, stomach churning. She chuckled inwardly; to Raoul, Erik was no more than a Phantom—her cursed, fallen angel. Just a demon, she thought sadly. Raoul would never know the man behind the monster… the man hiding behind the mask. The sad recluse who was still suffering beneath their feet; still alone, still living the life of a dead man. Or was he? A jarring thought dawned on Christine: if Victoria and Erik really were in love, what could possibly become of them? Their relationship? Their future? Hope for peace, happiness? It was terribly sad: they were doomed! Like Christine and Erik—Victoria and Erik were no more than star crossed lovers…

Christine forced her wandering mind back to the reality of the moment. "Well… no one. Oh, it's a beautifully distinguished name… won't you agree?"

Lightly chuckling, "It is, it is." Raoul released Christine from his affectionate hold, gently setting his hands over her abdomen.

Smiling, lost in thought, "Erik…"


	18. Erik's Torture Chamber

_Chapter Seventeen: Erik's Torture Chamber_

_In Erik's mind…_

I stand before her, before that fiery siren who challenges the Phantom of a man, and I'm left exposed in every sense. Uncloaked, stripped, bleeding, and unmasked. So humiliated! Wanting to pull her into my passionate kiss, like most men would. She who rids me of my mask, kissing my scars as I lick my wounds. She's seen the monster behind the mask... the man behind the monster. Or so this little siren thinks... A true siren, so strongly-willed, much stronger then the Phantom could ever be. She who does not betray my secrets, Erik's secrets. Condemn him.

But there exists secrets so vile, so demented, so demonic... secrets which remain Erik's secrets. And always will.

Then she cries for me, for Erik, cries for us. She claims to love me. Lost in oblivion, she confesses her love. Blinded, not able to see her way out of my darkness, not able to find her path back into life, is where she confesses her love. This is why she confesses her love to me. What boobys are the human race.

Yes, Victoria has met eyes with the Phantom, that hidden genius, scorned lover, mysterious Opera Ghost… The Phantom of the Opera. Not I, not Erik. Erik…the Devil's Child, the Persian trap-door lover. The false prophet, fallen angel. The madman who has designed a room of mirrors, a realm of illusions.

A torture-chamber! A torture-chamber that proves humanity's stupidity quite nicely. Man's embarrassing gullibility. Humanity's delusional mind; distorted perception. Seeing is believing, humans think. And there they see the African Forest. Being the boobys that they are, they fall for the trap-door lover's magic tricks. They feel the sun's terrible heat above. Look up, seeing that sun's bright glow. They feel the heat closing in on them, threatening to end them. Dumbly, they spook like a deranged stallion... kicking, pounding and screaming... slowly using up the last of their fleeting strength. Why are they so unable to accept their fate? Accept that, just maybe, God may not love them. God may hate them. Just picture it: God and Satan, hand-in-hand, watching their silly playthings and laughing together.

They gaze at the leafy trees. At first, they appreciate my iron tree's beauty. At first! Some of the poor wretches even lay down, as if in a true forest... admiring the 'scenery', wishing they'd had brought a picnic-basket along. Then hear the tiger's mighty roar. The king of the jungle, stalking them! Predator vs. Prey; the Phantom vs. humanity. 'Roaarrrrr!' Erik goes. Then, in the distance, they suddenly see an oasis, a lake! Oh, and how they rejoice. Run to it, their legs ready to collapse beneath them. They try to drink this false water and Erik laughs. They lose all hope and hang themselves. This is the human race!

The Angel of Music hides behind the cold of glass, calling out to his light, his little Soprano—calling out to a beauty so delicate, so pure: Christine Daae… she who is living proof of divinity, a heavenly God… Everything divine, sensational, wrapped in one, fleshy form. She's a woman that the Phantom has grown to love… possibly because she is his hope for the existence of a loving God… any God.

But no. The Angel of Music disguises himself… for it is truly the beckoning, desperate cry of Death himself that calls to her. That seduces such fragile beauty… sucking the light from her world; damning her to the darkest of dark. Sucking the blood that runs through her thin veins, leaving her a lifeless corpse. The Angel of Music's sweet plaything.

He's that angel wallowing in the crimson depths of hell. That poor, poor angel who Satan has locked away in his fiery home... behind his locked, iron gates he sulks. Oh, and how Satan laughs his sinister laugh. The Angel of Music: he's a sly demon who is really 'living' proof of humanity… proof of man's flaws and original sin.

Man's obsession, desires, longings.

The burning angel, with colossal wings black as Hell's lightless pit, that devil who finds himself trapped in purgatory. Deep down he knows light awaits him. But he can't accept himself, and so, heaven cannot accept him. Will not, should not.

Half demon, half man. Half angel, all devil… He's Erik, Erik, Erik, Erik!

This creature of darkness, angel in hell, condemns a man of sins which aren't truly his. Angel in hell, you are a lying fiend! Puppet! Wolf in sheep's clothing. Devious, hissing serpent! So disfigured, so wonderfully ugly you are!

And that man is a young man, handsome, distinguished, the man all other men vow to hate. That young, able suitor is everything a demon is not. And so Erik ruthlessly condemns that pitiful soul. But perhaps he and 'the patron' aren't as different as one may think; both wear masks, but of different shades. One, a scarlet one—Red Death's. The other, a mask of self-righteousness. That young man claims to be all that is good, all that is light. Yet the young man hasn't known darkness, and so, cannot truly know light…

Erik hates him with dangerous passion. He begs Erik's little angel, Erik's little soprano, to stop believing in angels! To stop believing in her loving Erik!

Then ironically, the young man's sister wears the same exact mask as he. Like he once did, she promises me light and love. She wishes to lead Erik from his solitude, into a lover's embrace. Then she and her demon bask in each other's palpable emotions… feelings. Those dangerous feelings and desires waiting to be molded into... something. Something beautiful. But no, those delusional two don't embrace in Apollo's Lyre. Instead they descend down, down, down, down into Hell… where they secretly embrace each other… steal each other's innocence… devouring each other's flesh. Tasting that forbidden fruit that wickedly taunts them.

Such sweet, sweet intoxication. Floating, falling, slowly, gently, savor each sensation...

Far from the burden of humanity and the throngs of life is where they dare to meet. And this is all an illusion at best! This is the same dark pit where the Phantom and Christine Daae once shared their unearthly affection. The Phantom truly is Don Juan on stage and below stage. For when their strange bond was brought up and out of hell, displayed for all to see… it burned over.

In the end it only proved that some men are not meant to be loved…

* * *

_For those who haven't read the book:_

_Thanks to the mirrors, the real room was multiplied by six hexagonal rooms, each of which, in its turn, was multiplied indefinitely. This tree, with its painted leaves, was absolutely true to life and was made of iron so as to resist all the attacks of the "patient" who was locked into the torture-chamber. The ceiling was capable of being lit up. An ingenious system of electric heating, which has since been imitated, allowed the temperature of the walls and room to be increased at will. Yes, some wretch, whose feet were not bare like those of the victims of the rosy hours of Mazenderan, had certainly fallen into this "mortal illusion" and, mad with rage, had kicked against those mirrors which, nevertheless, continued to reflect his agony. And the branch of the tree on which he had put an end to his own sufferings was arranged in such a way that, before dying, he had seen, for his last consolation, a thousand men writhing in his company. I do not know if the viscount heard the girl's swooning voice, for he was too much occupied by the astounding spectacle that now appeared before his distracted gaze. _

_Suddenly, we heard a lion roaring a few yards away. "Oh," whispered Raoul, "he is quite close!...Don't you see him?...There...through the trees...in that thicket! If he roars again, I will fire!..."_

_- On Erik's torture-chamber, taken right from Leroux's novel, chapter nineteen. Written in the Persian's point of view. _

_Wanted to be sure this chapter was non-reader friendly. :)_


	19. The Phantom of the Opera's Return

The Phantom of the Opera's Return

a/n: I accidentally replaced another chapter with this one and didn't have it saved to my hard drive.

I'm in the process of re-writing it, and will post it as soon as I'm finished. In the mean time, I jotted down the essential plot turns in this chapter below...

Erik sends out three 'love' letters:

**1)** the newest manager, demanding box 5 for his use, salary of 25,000 francs, Christine Daae to be casted as 'Margarita', and to go about these affairs as gentlemen so history is not to repeat itself.

signed... O.G.

**2) **Christine, explaining Carlotta has fallen 'ill', she will be singing in her place, and that he remains her humble servant - in the event she is in need of any further instructing.

signed... Your adorning angel.

**3)** Victoria, asking her to join him in 'box 5' during Faust, and not to tell anyone of their date, for no one holds any place in their affairs

signed... Yours, Erik.

I'm sorry it got deleted. Hope this helps, in the meantime, somewhat.


	20. Faust and a Thorned Rose

_Chapter Nineteen: Faust and a Thorned Rose_

Erik led Victoria through the maze of darkness, one hand gingerly encircling her fragile waist. Slowly, Erik peeled back the heavy one-way glass, returning her to humanity. She stood in the glass frame, seen as a sensual silhouette in Erik's gaze.

Erik inched toward Victoria, leaning into her soft cheek, pressing a quick, but tender, kiss to its flesh. Damp flesh.

Taken aback, Erik withdrew his lips, replacing them with his chilly fingers, dabbing away Victoria's fallen tears with the silk of his glove.

Richly, "Victoria… why your tears?"

Through a sniffle, latching onto his tear-stained glove, "You are alone."

Erik's fingers quickly slid from Victoria's tender grasp.

Adjusting his porcelain half, "Maybe so. Alone… not lonely…my music—" His voice was strained, laced with unconvincing confidence.

Her demure tone sharpened. "No, Erik! Music or no music—you remain in darkness." Through a gentle cry, "…alone."

Erik's blaring-white demi mask turned out of Victoria's sight. His heavy boots beat against the stone flooring as he descended back to his underworld. His dark sanctuary. Erik jumped; Victoria grabbed onto him from behind, pulling him into a dear embrace. The elegant length of her arms wrapped him whole, refusing to part.

"I—I cannot let you! I cannot!"

She buried her pretty face in his cloak, snuffing any evidence of tears. Face not abandoning the comfort of Erik's cloak, Victoria raised a hand to his mask, peeling it from his curse. Quickly. Treating it as though it were a wretched band aid, in desperate need of quick removal.

She could feel his body tighten, stiffening within her arms. Erik's breathing fell deep, reaching the very depth's of Hell. Its fierce rumble caressed Victoria's breast. Her free hand moved over his booming chest, massaging, calming his inner beast. A hand rose without hesitation, finding his stolen disguise mid-air; Victoria pulled it from his desperate reach, dropping it carelessly at their heels.

Out of habit, Erik sheltered his ugliness from Victoria's touch. From his own self. Ashamed, Erik's hand trembled mercilessly. He fondled his ruined face, cringing.

Victoria firmly tore his hand from his face, not releasing Erik the least bit. She replaced it with her own, caressing its uneven surface. His hairless brow-bone... tarnished flesh... sunken nostril... It was beyond foul, yet promising.

"Do you not recall? You told me, Erik… you had faith… that I could teach you to love… as a man would. But…" Softly kicking his mask aside, "With this… behind this… you shall never be a man…"

Breaking away from Victoria, "NO!" Erik kneeled to the cold ground, scooping his mask up dearly. "This… is what I am, Victoria De Chagny." His tone became empowered, almost threatening.

His inhuman growl pierced Victoria's chest. "No more, no less! When shall you understand this? Just... leave me be! Go! Go now! Siren! What games do you dare play, girl!"

"Not to me. Not through my eyes." Victoria joined Erik on the ground, crawling in front of his face, leveling it with her own.

"You haven't any idea, do you, Erik?"

Emotionless and too coldly, "And, what, dare I ask… is that?"

"How beautiful you are."

Erik began to madly stammer, objecting. Victoria continued, pressing her mouth against his ear, filling it with her breath's pleasant heat. Erik felt his eyes fall heavy in dangerous ecstasy. They shut pleasurably. Once again, Erik's manhood was claiming him. A violent shiver crept up his broad back as Victoria's steamy breaths tickled the nape of his neck.

"Damn..." Erik cursed his unforgiving humanity. Not until Victoria's breath drew away, did Erik realize he had spoken aloud.

She shrugged away Erik's oddness, continuing. Cooing, "This…" Resting a hand across Erik's heaving chest, "Is what you are. Who you are." Taking the mask from his firm grip, "Not this."

Erik sighed painfully, not knowing what to think. Inwardly battling a lifetime of acquired hatred and fear.

Her next words startled Erik:

"I want you…" Stroking his hairline, "…to come with me."

"I—I cannot."

"But you can!"

A long silence. Through a heavy sigh, "No. I can't."

Victoria returned his painful sigh, tears running anew. She pressed a luke-warm kiss to his lips, her salty tears disappearing in their parted crevice. After a lingering moment, Erik's own tears fell, mingling with Victoria's. Victoria stood, rubbing his stiff shoulder with tough affection.

"You best go."

As her hand melted from his back, "I shall see you tomorrow evening…"

Standing in the mirror's nude frame, "In box five."

And, with that, Victoria shut the mirror. She slowly made way to the mahogany vanity, collecting a kerosene lamp. Victoria centered herself in front of the mysterious one-way glass—which, to Erik's ignorance, was merely half closed. Inhaling a deep breath, she turned the lamp's knob…

Its illumination swayed in her unsteady hands, dancing across the dim atmosphere.

There, sat Erik, unmoved. Her heart tightened. Kneeling, an outstretched hand supporting his weight, head fallen. Erik's opposite hand cupped his mouth, tears falling from his eyes. Silently, she shut the mirror completely, hiding Erik. No longer able to stomach his pain, Victoria turned on her heel, vanishing from the dark room.

Victoria quickly fled the haunted opera house, joining the Parisian walkways. She tightened her cloak's scarlet wool about her frame, victim to the bitter cold. The crisp air was refreshing. How could Erik live in such terribly unnatural conditions?

Victoria froze; a slim figure seated along the empty walkway caught her eye. Victoria approached the solemnly seated lady. After several steps, the street lantern's soft glow revealed her identity. An unsettling chill crept through Victoria's veins. Christine sat, unblinking, deep in thought.

Without looking up, "It's all too much… Victoria." Her angelic voice chimed in the chilly air, helping warm Victoria's soul. But, what was she speaking of, Victoria imagined? She prayed it was not...

Christine continued, verbally shaken, severing Victoria's throbbing thoughts. "…I… I am not ready…" Victoria seated herself beside Christine—_her_ Erik's angel.

"Victoria… I am so frightened."

"Why so?"

"Erik… I will disappoint him terribly."

"You will not. You remain his Angel of Music… face of his song. You have always been… and always shall be, you do know."

Christine swallowed her churning stomach, tensing.

"But, if you do have doubts…you ought to go to him."

"What? No! That's far from possi—"

Victoria stood, gently massaging Christine's back.

"Go to him, Christine. Perhaps… you need him now, as much as he once was in need of you."

Under her faint breath, "Needed?" Feebly, "Erik... he loves you, does he?"

"He loves _you_… always shall… as his angel…"

Victoria turned gracefully, skirts brushing against Christine's slender leg. Christine exhaled a long breath—facing _her_ _own_ inner demon.

* * *

"Erik?"

Erik turned toward his Angel's soft voice, fully tensed. The rhythmic clicking of her heels came nearer.

Christine's hand fell across his stiff shoulder. "May… I sing for you, my Erik?"

Erik seated himself at his mighty organ remaining perfectly silent. He took a deep breath, stroking the ivory keys with nostalgic fondness. His masterful hands glided across them, emitting a melody that could only be described as heavenly. Christine's eyes fell heavy, the Phantom's powerful wonders swallowing her whole. After a long, tender silence, the Phantom's demanding roar echoed the entire labyrinth...

"Sing, sing for me... my Angel of Music! SING! SING FOR ME!"

Christine swallowed her daunting nerves, singing… for him. For her missed Angel of Music. For Erik.

* * *

The distressed manager, Monsieur Bouvier, paced back and forth like a madman, remaining backstage... away from Faust and his fond O.G.

The heavy curtain drew back; the intrigued audience fell silent. A few whispers and snippets of malicious gossip echoed in the darkness…

"Can you believe? Christine Daae shall be singing Margarita's role! That girl—"

"No, no, no! That is La Carlotta's role!"

"Good, Lord! She is… the opera ghost's mistress, is she not!"

"…she's wed to the Count—she's a Countess, you do know!"

"Oh! A harlot, is what she is!"

"Oh, what nerve she has! Such nerve, indeed—"

And so on.

But, Christine's polished voice soon pierced the tense air, no doubt touching everyone's very soul. Especially the Phantom of the Opera's…

If box five hadn't been devoured by shadow, Victoria might have seen Erik's soft smile. His smooth, rich hum accompanied Faust's melody…

Granted, Christine's singing was beautiful. And, yet, it was put to shame by Erik's passionate hum… Despite his every human flaw, he truly was the Angel of Music.

"You've taught her well."

"Ah, maybe so… but it wasn't all I, Victoria. Christine… she has always been destined for stardom. Always…"

Respecting the purity of Erik and Christine's bond, Victoria disregarded any hint of jealousy which poisoned her blood.

Erik suddenly felt Victoria's pleasant warmth against his own.

Margarita's song flooded the auditorium, charming everyone. Raoul smiled at Christine's _return_.

"_Oh, how strange! Like a spell does the evening bind me to you! And a deep languid charm,  
I feel without alarm with its melody entwined me. And all my heart forever subdue…"_

Erik awkwardly forced an arm around Victoria's slim shoulder. Flustered and as hesitant as a schoolboy, he embraced Victoria… as any flesh and blood man should.

* * *

Christine sat exhausted in the rose-bouquet-filled dressing room. She smiled privately, noting it was La Carlotta's domain which she consumed. But, frowned quickly… hopefully, Christine prayed, the Phantom hadn't done anything too drastic.

"What, in God's name, is this meaning of this?"

Raoul's terrible voice split the room. He forced a blood-red rose—which was enveloped neatly with a satin bow—and a note in her grasp, shaken beyond belief.

Christine's heart skipped several beats, pounding viciously, threatening to burst from her breast. Raoul vanished from the dressing room in pure horror and impending tears. Could it be? He felt sick.

Christine fondled the folded parchment, her mind neglecting Raoul's dangerous agony.

She set the crimson rose aside, undoing the clean folds with slight hesitation…

'_MISS DAAE:_

_I am pleased. _

_-Your angel.' _


	21. Joys of the Flesh

_Chapter Twenty: Joys of the Flesh_

'_MISS DAAE:_

_I am pleased._

_-Your adoring angel.'_

Christine couldn't help but read the tender words several times, her heart emitting a sweet pitter-patter as she did so. All thoughts of her Angel fled her mind as quickly as they had come.

His grave expression, few words, and cold parting told all—Raoul knew. Christine suddenly found herself in a panic, thoughts caught within a cyclone of torment. Christine felt the sting of imminent tears as she pondered how such ill fate had fallen upon herself. How did Raoul manage to find the Phantom's familiar rose and note?

After 'Faust,' Madame Giry, Meg, Victoria, and everyone else dearest to Christine, had showered her with compliments and bear hugs. Meanwhile, Raoul had made himself comfortable in the dressing room, patiently awaiting Christine's arrival. Behold—atop the vanity rested a token of the Phantom's affections.

Christine surrendered to her tears at last, unable to restrain them a moment longer. Had this beautiful, exquisite rose sullied their infantile bond? A love, a connection, an understanding which had survived so much agony, transcending the impossible? A rose which was far from natural—bearing no thorns, its petals a soft velvet, color a bloody hue of red.

She mentally kicked herself; in the midst of such sour fate, Christine thought mostly of Erik's well-being. What would Raoul do to her Angel? Would history repeat itself? Would the Phantom be hounded, once again, left victim to man's wrath? Misunderstood, condemned of immortal sins? Would the Phantom of the Opera's legacy come to an end? Her ghost's love story?

Christine had known Raoul since their earliest years; if there was one thing he wasn't—it was violent. But…love is an unforgiving, blinding force… And, jealousy, quite deadly.

Christine cringed at the inevitable; _he_ would have to know. Her thoughts ended there. Christine wrapped herself in a scarlet cloak, descending down, down, down once more… deep into the depths of Erik's Hell. Erik's despair; Christine's prison.

* * *

An arm enveloped Erik's waist, pulling him into a soft hug. He stared down at the weeping angel, breath caught in chest, eyes lined with adoration. He marveled how fragile Christine looked…this delicate creature wrapping herself so freely in a demon's hold. Christine was of fairly good height, yet Erik stood several heads superior. Erik gave an inward smile; maiden or mistress, the girl had never abandoned innocence. It was her fragility and palpable heart which never ceased to steal Erik's breath away.

Her cries soon became sobs. She wept into his ivory dress-shirt, tears plastering the dampened fabric to his chest. Her hands clutched onto the material, tangling it between her slender fingers, not intending to let go. Erik pulled her nearer to his chest, fingers combing her curls as he rocked her gently. His sensitive touch and kind cradling helped calm her nerves—somewhat. They resembled father and daughter quite nicely.

Erik couldn't stomach Christine's distress a moment longer. Surely, it would be the end of him.

"Christine? Why does my Angel weep?"

Christine rubbed her pretty eyes dry; Erik placed a single finger beneath her fallen chin, lifting it to his gaze.

"Oh, Erik…i-i-it's…" Christine's face hid in his shirt, wishing for escape.

Soothingly, "Yes, mon cheri?"

"I…I just cannot bring myself to say."

She hiccoughed a bit; amused, a low chuckle rumbled within Erik's chest. Erik's masterful fingers grazed over her paled cheek, brushing away any tears.

"You shan't have reason to be frightened, Christine." Stroking her curls, "Never did you."

A quick, but reassuring, kiss was pressed onto her hairline. Then, an unsettling silence claimed them both. A dark silence. Christine inhaled a generous amount of air as she faced her dark fate.

"Erik…he knows."

Christine needn't say more. Erik's hands slid from Christine, eyes inflamed, stepping free from her desperate embrace.

"Oh, Angel…h-he found the rose…the note…he has gone, now." Through an odd combination of strained tears and chuckles, "I should hope Raoul not to be gone forever..." Thoughts of losing her sweetheart were clearly plaguing her mind. Securing Erik in her protective clutch, "If anything were to happen to you…I…I shall simply die!"

Christine felt Erik's posture tighten against her own. Her jaw dropped at his unexpected choice of words:

"Victoria…she knows of this?"

_Victoria_…Christine thought. No compassion for Christine; no cursing away her sacrificial death threat? She gave off a slight 'huff', jealously dominating reason.

"Christine…?" Silence. "CHRISTINE!"

His authoritative tone was nothing short of chilling... The Phantom's icy voice chilled Christine's being…in every sense.

Softly, "She does not…not yet, at least."

Erik exhaled a sigh of relief, allowing his body to ease.

"Where is she, Christine?"

"Here…if I am not mistaken…sitting Sarah alongside Meg and Elizabeth, I should trust."

Erik's arms rose, abandoning her waist, hovering over Christine's tiny shoulders. In a firm motion he planted each hand around them, fingers enveloping her naked skin. She withered beneath his powerful touch.

"Christine…There is something you must do for me…please…and it has to be tonight, not so much as a moment later!…now, in fact…"

She took a brief moment to consider his words. Then, "Of course…anything you need asked of me, my Angel."

Erik could not suppress a chuckle; such obedience reminded him of a much younger, more cooperative Christine Daae. A young soprano… always at her master's beck and call…tucked beneath the Angel of Music's wing.

"She is not to know. Not to leave Opera Populaire, you understand this, Christine?" She nodded her understanding. "Victoria…tell her she is to meet myself in an hour's time…affront the mirror."

_The mirror.._. Christine thought nostalgically. _Their mirror... _Masking sadness, Christine nodded again, forging a smile. He turned away, head and spirit's low, fearing the horrors to come.

Then...

He was unmasked… exposed…defenseless…Erik sheltered himself from Christine's morbid gaze, panting, humiliated. He hated the human race with a fierce passion.

"REMORSELESS VIPER! HAVE YOU learned NOTHING, you little DEMON! Do FEAST your EYES, DAAE!... Wh-"

His beastly growling, raging temper, soon dissolved into pure silence. His harsh stare softened.

Christine clutched his mask tightly to her side, opposite hand cradling his chin…then, it brushed through his hair in charming repetition. She leaned into his trembling lips, parting them with her own. He stood paralyzed, heart racing and mind clouded, not daring to return her advance. Her soft kiss was intoxicating…giving off a strange, almost poisonous sensation. He felt lightheaded, as if she had stolen his breath, leaving behind a wretched corpse.

Christine released the mask at their heels, both hands forcing him into her deepened kiss. Her smooth tongue danced against his own. Those sweet lips soon abandoned Erik's mouth…bravely climbing over his face…painfully slow…his eyes…cheek…chin…finally, settling on his deformity.

Christine struggled to push thoughts of Raoul from her mind—she scared herself when she found it came quite easily... Their kiss was unlike any other; fierce with passion, yet, equally chaste. Christine Daae and her Angel of Music held an unconditional bond. One the human race could never know. They were two, misunderstood souls. Each other's guardian.

With a weak nudge, Erik pushed Christine from himself. This was beyond his understanding.

Tripping over words and tangled emotion, "C-Christine, what—"

"I had to do so. You had to know…you are my Angel, always shall be…yet…far more than that, my Erik…the most passionate man I have come to know."

_Man_…it echoed his thoughts in a mocking melody.

"Oh, Christine…"

Tears welled her eyes; Erik kissed her swollen eyelids, reviving her.

"Erik…I…fear I shall never see you again…" Erik pressed his kiss to her forehead, sweeping away stray curls.

"Well, I do have a request of my own…" Erik smiled at the beginnings of Christine's favor, already committed. "Don't be afraid to love…accept another's love…accept yourself…love yourself. Eight years ago I had found my light…it's time you are to find yours, as well."

Erik couldn't say why, but, Christine's words touched him at a profound level.

Christine knelt, collecting his mask, placing it into Erik's unsteady hands, sadness threading her eyes. "My Angel…you are beautiful…don't hide…true beauty…it never shall go unnoticed." Catching him in a last kiss, Christine breathed the truthful words into his parted mouth, "I love you."

His Angel was gone.

* * *

Victoria paced in front the mirror, jittery, a smile tugging at her lips, oblivious to everything. A foreign shyness claimed Victoria tonight; 'Faust' had gone well, and Erik meant more to her now than ever before.

The mirror slowly opened, revealing an outstretched, gloved hand for her taking. She accepted it bashfully, straightening out her chocolate curls.

Erik breathed her name through a rich purr. "Victoria…"

She stood grounded in place, caught in the ecstasy of the Phantom's haunting voice.

"_Victoria…"_

She shivered tremulously; never had her name sounded more beautiful. It slid from Erik's tongue naturally, flawlessly.

Erik pulled her through the mirror and into his darkness. He kicked the one-way glass closed. Erik rotated her slender frame, grasping her waist with his barely-there touch. His fingers nearly met one another as his hands encircled almost her entire waist. They melted off her lower half, climbing up the rest of her, wickedly slow. His touch was a ghostly tease—barely making contact. Finally, Erik wrapped her neck from behind, resting it on its side. Obeying, her neck fell limp, making room for his mouth as her eyes shut pleasurably. He pressed a lingering kiss to her cheek.

"Oh, Victoria…" She shivered wildly, left at Erik's mercy.

Erik kissed her nude shoulders, hissing his fiery words onto them. "You must come with me… to my lair..."

His mouth grazed the entire length of her back in a wet taunt.

Shyly, "I…fear no longer can I wait…nor shall I…" His steamy breath scorched Victoria; she melted in his arms. With more confidence, "Tonight…I shall show you heaven and all its glory…tonight, the heaven I have been eternally denied…it will be ours…"

* * *

Erik led her into the beautiful bedchamber, his fingers threading Victoria's. His expression was tight and rigid as he struggled to keep his composure. The torch was already lit, its romantic glow bleeding across the walls. Victoria scanned the intimate atmosphere with widened eyes, realizing the Phantom's suggestive intent...

Erik gently shut the door behind, securing the lock with a tiny skeleton key... Just in case Raoul De Chagny decided to mingle in Erik's personal affairs, as he had so foolishly done eight years prior.

She crinkled her nose a bit, not understanding what compelled him to lock the bedchamber's door. Heart racing, Erik stared dumbly at the closed door, delaying eye contact with his house-guest as long as he could manage.

After a long quiet, Victoria set her hand atop his shoulder; he tensed at contact. With a lively swish of his cloak, Erik turned towards the girl; gently, he swung Victoria in front of himself, firmly pushing her body up against the door.

He took a moment to study the beauty's softly lit features. He towered over her, hands propped against the wall, stabilizing his fatigued body. Erik's heart soared as he drank her in.

An intense wave of desire crashed within him, drowning any remaining doubt. After an intense silence, he scooped Victoria into his arms effortlessly, cradling her near his chest. He spilled Victoria onto the satin sheets, crawling beside her.

He lay on his side; elbow perched upon the sheet's smooth silk, chin resting in his hand's palm. Erik's free hand petted Victoria's soft hair, his strokes generous and repetitive.

"You are beautiful." He continued with sadness, gloved fingertips delicately outlining her jaw. "I, undeserving."

She frowned a bit, objecting. Victoria managed to only shake her head in disagreement; she was far too mesmerized to do much more.

Erik fastened an arm around her reclined frame, drawing her close to his pleasant warmth. He tossed Victoria into a spooning position, their bodies contouring like an odd puzzle. Erik's hands held each other as they rested just beneath her chest. She forced them apart, slipping off each glove…tossing the gloves aside.

Once again, his icy fingertips outlined her jaw-line…sensually crawling down her neck, making home just above the rise of her full breasts. One hand stayed put; the other cradled her chin, aligning her dreamy gaze with his.

Erik struggled to speak with confidence, failing miserably. His tender words were spoken with uncertainty and timidness.

"May…I make love to you, Victoria?"

His blushing cheeks glowed brightly under the torch's wavering flame. His boyish innocence charmed Victoria.

"Oh, Erik…" She swallowed her nerves. Victoria leaned into his ear, barely inaudible, "…yes…"

Erik's stationed hand slinked down her heaving breasts ever so slowly, passing over their warm flesh… Her body tossed beneath his captivating touch, half from excitement, half from being beyond anxious. Neither one knew quite what to expect, never having experienced the mysterious art of love making.

Was this really happening? Fantasy or not—Victoria couldn't tell. The delicate line separating reality from dream had been blurred, the ignited bridge burned to the their feet.

Victoria waited in anticipation for Erik's caress to become reverent, dominating…roughened. But, instead, Erik withdrew his hands entirely. He glanced down at them, childishly twiddling his thumbs, emerald gaze staying averted.

Stroking his hairline, "Erik…is something the matter? You do not wish for this?"

"No… believe me I do, Victoria…painfully much, I dare say." Eyes meeting hers, "I…am scared."

"Oh, Erik, you shan't be…" Nuzzling against his chest, "If it helps some…I, too, am rather frightened."

Erik was surprised to hear this. Nonetheless, his words fell fainter, airy, and nearly incoherent. "Oh…it's worlds different, for myself…mon cheri…never have I…"

Completing his thought, "…given myself to anyone. I, too, Erik…"

"Someone as beautiful as yourself? Impossible."

"Beauty…it may drive passion…but, not complete it."

Erik considered her words, remembering the events of Don Juan. A passion so fierce, so consuming…so very incomplete.

"This…it is so… new…so foreign…" Darkly, "Ah, the art of seduction…it has been always mine…but…" Victoria could feel the penetration of his pleading eyes. "…this…it frightens me."

The Phantom of the Opera, O.G… creature of darkness was no stranger to passion, stirring one's will power, a maiden's womanhood—this was far from a secret. Victoria took a moment to think. Is passion not enough? So far from love?

"Why so?"

Erik inhaled an almost painful sigh.

"I love you, Victoria."

Her crystal gaze glistened, beaming under the gentle light. She sniffled a bit, overwhelmed by emotion. Long, tear drops stained her porcelain cheeks.

"You…really mean this?"

"I do. Tonight…I realized I could not be without you…I cannot."

"Christine-"

Curtly, "Made her choice. You, Victoria, are mine." He paused for a moment. "Raoul has been good to her. For that, I am thankful." Victoria smiled, pressing a gracious and relieved kiss to Erik's forehead.

Erik shuddered. Had he found love, only to have it stolen? What would the 'human race' have to say about such an unlikely affair? He harnessed back his burning tears. Noticing Erik's distress, Victoria's gentle smile fell into a frown.

"Erik…is all well?"

He nodded.

Erik leaned into her slowly, cautiously. His face tilted on its side, lips brushing hers in a chaste kiss. He drew back, studying her fond expression. Again, he brushed his lips to hers, their mouths remaining shut with innocence. But, Erik changed that. His smooth tongue ran over her mouth, wedging between her lips, forcing them apart. Victoria allowed him entry, experiencing the most intimate, wonderfully romantic kiss of her nineteen years of life. She pulled back, a feminine sigh escaping the shallow and parched depths of her throat.

And with that, Victoria sprawled across his tensed form, hands running up and down, up and down his mighty length. It was Erik's turn to be seduced…his raging, wildfire of passion calmed at last.

She undid the first several buttons of Erik's dress-shirt… allowing just enough space for her hands to bury beneath the material. Her fingers brushed over his nude chest in sensual strokes, nails tickling its hypersensitive flesh. Victoria undid another button…kissed the newly exposed skin…then, another button…and another… After several more kisses and unfastened buttons, his shirt fell completely opened. Victoria's eyes took in his powerful chest and all its glory. She shivered; Erik's blackened chest hair reminded her of Erik's overwhelming masculinity.

She splayed the ivory material all the way open, her curious hands exploring every inch of his chest. Erik's chest was strong, firm against her hands. She gently outlined each of his scars, not leaving one untouched, eyes tearing as she did so.

Erik's racing heartbeat trembled under her fingertips, his breathing now labored. Her small hips cradled his lap; Erik stared up at Victoria with unfathomable passion and desire.

He lifted his back up, away from the sheets, letting Victoria peel away his shirt. She disregarded the garment, tossing it beside the folded cloak.

Victoria collapsed on his chest; his fierce heartbeat pounded viciously against her own. She lay perfectly still for several moments. An awkward silence fell over the two lovers.

Finally, "...Erik…"

Erik suddenly understood the meaning of Victoria's submission.

Hands madly shaking, he fondled her dresses' material. He inhaled deeply, undoing several clasps, breath falling more and more shallow with each one.

After a job well done, his cold hands rested atop her nude back. She fidgeted a bit as he drew barely there circles with his thumbs—it gave off a delicious tickle. Victoria pressed a kiss to Erik's forehead, urging him not to dare stop…

He was so gentle with Victoria, his affection far from rough, animalistic; romance and passion laced his tender caresses. Both were equally sensitive to the others insecurities and bashfulness.

Victoria and Erik guided each other with encouraging and tender motions…teaching how to play the instrument that was their body. And, like every other instrument, Erik took to Victoria's body naturally…those masterful hands touching her in the most extraordinary ways…only as a true lover would.

His hands slid down the dip of her curves, exploring her exotic landscape. But, his hands quickly froze mid-air as they met their newest challenge.

Erik blushed a deep crimson; his hands stopped dead at her corset's laces. Gently, she took each of his hands within her own, leading Erik through, what he imagined to be, the impossible. He caught on after the first several laces, tugging at them with a sudden sense of urgency, freeing Victoria from her bonds. A sweet sigh of relief fled her lips.

He nestled his face against her soft chest, heavy hands planted on each of her shoulders. The cold of his half-mask grinded against her. Very timidly, very slowly, very cautiously, he slid each sleeve down...off…

Warm, sensual kisses bathed his newest finding. She whined a bit, his intoxicating movements sending her into oblivion and beyond. Erik marveled at the obvious pleasure _he_ was giving the girl; he didn't know which felt better: finally experiencing a woman's touch, or a woman _allowing_ herself to be touched... By him. Erik began to feel a bit faint...

She felt Erik tightening, his body shuddering, approaching _his_ point of no return.

Victoria hopped out of the bed, locking Erik's hungry eyes, savoring his every expression, every rich hiss. Victoria finally dropped her dress to the floor, surrendering to his pleading gaze. Erik stared up at Victoria in complete awe…complete silence…his jaw fell open at such perfection.

The subdued illumination transformed Victoria's slender curves into a wicked silhouette, leaving next to nothing for Erik's imagination. Victoria grew immensely flustered; his unwavering, unblinking stare embarrassed her. She tugged her hair forward, draping chocolate tresses over each shoulder in a poor attempt to cover her modesty.

Seeing those luscious curls cascading over her frame intrigued him all the more.

Erik's heart raced, threatening to burst. His loud pulse drowned thoughts of doubt. Erik was burning with desire…his longings were unbearable…his tempted body couldn't handle another, torturous second. She was beautiful, longing to please him just the same. Erik clenched his jaw tightly…Victoria De Chagny was to be _his_.

He rolled where Victoria lay before; her lingering body heat left the sheets toasty—his aching flesh tingled at the sensation.

A lifetime of denial and rejection was closing in on the lovers…arming Erik with a fresh strength.

His arms lunged forward, fastening tightly, just under bottom, pulling Victoria on top of him. She gasped, feeling his arousal pressing against her. Erik pulled the chemise over her head in one, swift motion. His oversized hands wrapped each of her breasts as he let himself experience the forbidden. His hands slid away-very briefly-taking a moment to savor Victoria and all she offered.

Breathing, "Oh, Victoria..."

Victoria's eyes fell heavy; she knew-that magical voice would never cease in wooing her. He showered her with his kisses, dominating her like the Phantom he was.

He gave a beastly growl, flipping his mistress onto her back-perhaps, a bit too roughly. His body sprawled out, spreading across hers; he took care not to crush Victoria beneath his inhuman build. Erik removed her hands from around his neck, guiding them where he ached for them to be…

Erik set them on each broad hip, slightly pushing her fingers beneath the snug material of his trousers. He tasted her neck, hands dancing everywhere _but _his trousers. He would leave the rest to Victoria. She relieved the cummerbund waist, tossing the belt aside; Erik elevated his bottom, hinting her to slide off the final barrier keeping them apart. He moaned a sharp breath, experiencing skin against skin for the first time in over forty, despairing years. Too many years. It was everything he had privately imagined...and more. Their flesh was damp, beads of sweat swimming down their sides.

Erik froze. He stared into Victoria's sapphire eyes, his beautiful voice no more than a gentle whisper.

"Victoria…there isn't going back…past the point of no return…" Pressing a kiss to her hairline, "Things will have forever changed. Forever."

Victoria dipped him into a quick kiss. "Yes, Erik…isn't it about time they do?"

His reply was passionate kisses; Erik's body quivered from the painful anticipation. The promising release to come.

Between short breaths, "No…Erik…wait..."

She peeled the unfeeling porcelain from his face, letting it join the nearby mountain of garments. He didn't like this. Erik sat up, hand refusing to abandon his deformity. His weakness.

"Why, Victoria…? No!—my… mask—"

Her lips swallowed the last of his words. She pulled away, murmuring a soft, "No! Erik…please…allow me to have you…all of you…"

Erik sank back down, letting them become one, entwined form… at last. She gave a faint cry at the uncomfortable, new sensation; he pressed a comforting kiss to her damp cheek, being especially gentle. After a moment, he groaned a hefty grunt. Even his sounds of pleasure were music to one's ears. This Angel of Music... His mouth claimed Victoria's with passionate determination.

Erik pressed his warm lips onto her ear, lightly purring, _"Oh, je vous aime, Victoria mon bel ange...mon bel ange...mon Victoria...Oh, ciel finalement..."_ (Oh, I love you, Victoria, my beautiful angel...my beautiful angel...my Victoria...Oh, heaven at last...)

His mutters of ecstasy never ceased; Erik felt his soul soaring to new heights as he tasted heaven. He withered within Victoria's soft embrace, his muscles trembling slightly; Victoria's lips never parted from his curse, all the while. He was her beautiful Erik.

For the first time, Erik experienced the release he'd never known with another.

* * *

Hours later, Erik held the peaceful Victoria within the comfort of his arms. A subtle smile, a smile of total oblivion, tugged at her rosy lips. He watched with fascination as her chest ascended and sank with each breath. He glanced down at the slumbering angel, adoration in his faded eyes…wondering if she would soon become fallen.

_(a/n: Thatta boy! The chapter was alot of fun to write. Too much fun, hehe. For now, this is the last chapter. I know the ending is rather abrupt. I am planning on posting an Epilogue... hopefully sometime soon.)_


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